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OCTOBER  ROSES 


AND 


OTHER  VERSES 


BY 
SUSAN  CONDE  OSGOOD  UPTON 


THE  NEUNER  COMPANY 
LOS  ANGELES 


Copyright,    1915,   by 
Susan  Conde  Osgood  Upton 


This  book  is  lovingly  dedicated  to 


believing  that  no  other  souvenir  that  1  can  leave  them 

would  hold  so  much  of  my  heart  or  express 

so  well  my  hope  and  faith 


CONTENTS 


October   Roses           .        .        ......  11 

Huela  de  Xoche 4  12 

The   Aviator       .......  13 

A  Xew  Text  for  Memorial  Day         ....  14-17 

The  White,  the  Red,  the  Star-Set  Blue         .         .  18,  19 

Ring  True,  O   Bell 20,' 21 

Sequences   of   Errors     .                  .         .         .         .         .  22 

In    Memoriam — Heroes    of    the    Titanic         .    •     .  .23 
The  Little  Grey  Postman     .         .         .         .         .         .24,25 

Aileen    of    Prairie    Ronde         .         .         ...  26, 27 

A  Retrospect 28 

Memorial    Roses        .         .         .         .         .         .         .  .29 

The  Natal  Tie         .         .         .         .         .                  . '  30 

He  is  Risen 31 

My  Father's  Prayer       .....  32 

Love   Rules         ........  33 

California    Poppies 34 

In  His  Hand 35 

The  Unfailing  Guide     .......  36 

Resurrection   Hymn 37 

The    Song   of  Jochebed         ......  38 

Nature         .        . 39 

California — A    Picture 40 

Apostrophe  to  the  Hudson 41 

On  Mountain  Tops         .....  42 

Inseparable          .         .         .         .         .         .  43 

Ever  Present           .......  44 

Sunset  by  the  Sea      .......  45 

After  the  Rain       .        .        ...        .        ."  46 

The  Lesson  of  the  Mountain  Top         .        .        .  47-49 

The  Sea  Mother's  Song        .         .        .        ...  50 

Waking  of  Spring  in  the  North       .         .         .         .  .51 

That    Cat .  '      .        .  52, 53 

The  Challenge  of  the  Sea 54 

The  Library  of  Congress     .        .        .                 .        .  55 

The    Pioneer    Pastor          .         .         .         .         .         .  56-59 

5 


California  Free       ........     60, 61 

The   Parable   of  the   Tree 62,63 

Those  Tired  Eyes 64 

Lines  to  My  Mother 65 

The  White  Line 66 

Imagination 67 

Thy  Still  Deep  Heart  of  Rest 68 

Little    Fairy 69 

Violets 69 

The    Crucified   Years 70 

Love  and   Care       ........  71 

My    Dream          .........       72 

A   New   Year §      .  73 

A  Fisherman      .........       74 

The    Meaning   of    Christmas 75 

Canst  Thou  by  Searching  Find  out  God?       ...       76 

An    Anniversary    of   Sorrow 77, 78 

The  Empty  Chair      . 79 

Night  and  Sorrow      .         .  "     .         .         .         .         .         .80 

The   Broken   Set 81 

Our  Child  .         .         .         ......         .82 

Links   in    Life's    Chain          .  "      .        .        ..       .         .     83,84 

The    Gift   was   too    Fair         ...         .         .         .    .       85 

A  Welcome        .        .        .        .         .        .        f  .86 

Baby's   Book 87 

To  a  Young  Man  on  His  Twenty-first  Birthday     .         88,  89 
Growing  Young  in  California        .         .         .         .  90 

My  Boy .91 

Letter  to  a  Family  Reunion         .         ...         .  92 

A   Golden   Wedding 93 

The  Debt  Ancestral       .......  94 

Loving  Service  ........       95 

Serve  the  Lord  with  Gladness     .         ....         .•          96 

The  Covenant  of  Peace         .         .         .         .         ...  97 

The    Mother's    Voice         .         .         .         .         .    '.     .          98,99 

Christian  Endeavor  Marching  Song     .         .         .          100,  101 

Right  Wins '   .         .      102,  103 

For  Old  Times'  Sake ,.          104,105 

The  White  Ribbon 106 

Spirit  of  Christmas         .         .         .         .         .         .         .         107 

A  Gift  of  Long  Ago         .        ,         .         .       '.         .      108,109 
Hospitality .         .110 


From  Failure  to  Flight         .;....         Ill 

My  Planting 112 

Light  Through  the   Clouds 113 

The  Songless  Bird 114 

The   Heaviest  Load       .......         115 

A  Twentieth  Century  Greeting       .         .        .        .         .116 

Souvenirs         .         .         .         .         .         .         .  .         117 

The  Poppy  Fields 118 

In  Orange  Blossom  Time         .         .         .         .        .     .         119 

The  Children's  Footsteps         ......     120 

Wants  of  the  Hour        .        .        .        .        .        .        .        121 

The    Mother's   Prayer       .         .         .        .         .         .         .122 

Autographs      .         ..        .  .         .         .         .         .         123 

Fragments   of   Verse 124 

The  Rhyme  of  the  Automobile  .  .  .  .  .  125 
Dorotha  Frances  .  .  *  .  .  ...  126 
The  True  Tale  of  the  Tenderfoot  ..  .  .  127,128 
A  True  Christmas  Story  .  .  .  ...  129 

They    Also          . 130,131 

Christmas    Hymn  .        .        .        .        .        .          132,  133 

Summer       .         .         .  .         .         .         .  .-•     ..        .134 

The  Blizzard  .  . 135-137 

Happiness 138 

October  Roses  in  California  ....  139,140 
The  Battle  of  Leon  ._  .  141,142 

The    Old    Blue    Spread        ...  143 


OCTOBER  ROSES  AND  OTHER  VERSES 


October  Roses  and  Other  Verses 


OCTOBER  ROSES 

HOW  I  loved  the  sweet  wild  roses 
Hiding  where  the  grass  was  dense 
In  the  little  unploughed  angles 

Of  the  gray,  old  zigzag  fence! 
To  find  again  their  baby  faces, 

Like  the  lilt  of  olden  tune, 
Thought  of  time  and  place  erases — 
Life,  again,  is  in  its  June. 

They  are  blooming  in  the  canyon, 
Seaward — winding,  blossom  fair. 

Fragrance  of  them — June's  own  darlings- 
Scents  the  ripe  October  air. 

Through  the  California  valley 
Softly  sifts  the  ocean  dew 

And  the  sun-kissed  buds,   responsive, 
Lift  rosy  petals  to  the  blue. 

What  secret  chemistry  of  nature 

Brings  them  to  this  frostless  dell, 
Where  Summer's  mystic  messengers 

Hold  the  seasons  in  their  spell, 
Where  June,  the  radiant,  flitting  guest, 

Of  frosty  northern  lands  held  dear, 
Dwells  and  twines  her  wild-rose  wreaths 

Round  the  blossoming  year? 

Hint  they  of  some  far-borne  blessing 

Glowing  in  perennial  charms, 
That  shall  slip  not,  evermore, 

Out  from  close  detaining  arms? 
Speak  they  of  the  hope,  unfailing, 

Crowned,  at  last,  by  late-won  prize? 
Of  the  faith  that  steadfast  holdeth, 

Love  whose  blossom  never  dies  ? 
11 


HUELA  DE  NOCHE 

FRAGRANCE  of  the  tropic  night, 
Denied  to  the  all-wooing  light 
And  lavished  where  the  shadows  lurk 
Amid  the  darkness,  mist,  and  murk, 
Thou  art  the  prototype  of  such 
Rare  souls  as  move  at  Pity's  touch! 
Their  strength  and  beauty  hidden  lie 
When  gay  Prosperity  rides  high, 
But  rouse  whene'er  misfortune  falls, 
Eager  to  fly  where  sorrow  calls, 
Or  pain  that,  unrelieved  and  lone, 
Unto  the  midnight  maketh  moan. 

Night  flower,  thy  perfume  lives  unspent 
Outside  thy  kindred  element, 
Like  human  spirits,  dull  and  cold, 
That  might  in  blessing  rich  unfold. 
And  thou  art  blest  to  know  thine  hour, 
For  many  lives  find  not  the  power, 
The  touch,  the  key,  the  hidden  spring 
To  give  the  song  and  sweetness  wing. 

Some  virtues  must  be  sorrow-born 
Since  Sorrow  is;  and  when,  forlorn, 
I  tread  the  vales  of  adverse  fate 
I  would  this  blossom  imitate ; 
I'd  bid  the  grief  that  must  ensue 
Develop  love,  pervasive,  true, 
And  from  my  inmost  spirit  wring 
Fragrance  that  joy  could  never  bring. 


12 


THE  AVIATOR 

LOOSE  the  ropes!     Up  and  away! 
They  watch  for  us  along  the  bay ! 
Danger?     Risk?     That  is  the  breath 
Of  life  to  us  who  ride  with  Death; 
Who  'scape  his  clutches  by  a  hair 
In  breathless  battles  in  the  air. 
Let  those  who  cower  at  danger  stay! 
Life  was  given  to  fling  away! 
Life  is  not  a  coin  to  hoard, 
'Tis  priceless  wine  to  be  outpoured 
In  high  emprise.     By  this  we  live 
Nor  shrink  the  last  full  meed  to  give. 
To  risk,  to  pour  the  last  drop  in, 
Face  doom — and,  then,  to  win,  to  WIN ! 
This  the  creed  that  thrills  the  soul, 
That  wings  the  air-man  to  his  goal. 
So,  loose  the  ropes!     Up,  and  away! 
They  wait  for  us  along  the  bay! 

They  wait.     They  watch  with  straining  eyes. 
In  vain.     Beneath  the  waves  the  bird-man  lies. 

What  boots  it  that  one  battle's  lost? 

We'll  conquer  yet,  at  deepest  cost. 

Some  pilot,  yet,  will  safely  sail 

Where  these  bold  souls  have  missed  the  trail. 


13 


A  NEW  TEXT  FOR  MEMORIAL  DAY 

N  fields  where  battle  echoes  sleep 
As  silent  as  the  hearts  its  fury  stilled, 
The  grass  grows  green,  the  sod  is  deep 
Enriched  by  blood  that  brave  men  spilled 
In  sacrifice  that  left  unmeasured  debt. 
On  peaceful  acres  scattered  east  and  west 
Where  never  cannon  roared  or  sword  was  wet, 
Here  and  there,  where'er  their  soldiers  rest, 
Memorial  day  forbids  the  nation  to  forget. 
Flower-strewn  the  velvet  sod  that  overlies 
These  mounds,  with  marbles  for  remembrance  set, 
And  in  their  presence  thrilling  memories  rise. 
How  true  they  were  in  those  red  battle  days, 
How  loyal  to  their  vision  of  the  right, 
How  deaf  to  voice  of  profit,  pleasure,  praise, 
Or  fear,  how  confident  that  in  the  might 
Of  God  their  cause  went  marching  on! 
In  this  firm  faith,  with  loyal  breasts  they  met, 
Unstirred,  the  hurtling  steel,  the  bayonet. 
To  cherish,  safe,  their  high  ideals  of  right 
They  pledged  their  brave  young  hearts, 

their  manhood's  might, 
And  at  the  bullet's  mark,  the  saber's  edge, 
They  paid  the  last  full  measure  of  that  pledge — 
Yes-1 — purchased  with  their  parting  breath, 
Their  nation's  life — and  paid  in  wounds  and  death. 

A  grateful  country  mourned,  yet  gloried  in  its  loss. 

A  bleeding  country  bowed  beneath  its  heavy  cross. 

14 


Remembering,  still, 
The  glory  of  those  gifts, 

The  hurts,  the  griefs,  it  watches,  now,  for  rifts 
In  War's  black  clouds,  to  see  its  rayless  night 
End  in  the  dawning  of  a  higher  light. 
Its  call,  to-day,  goes  forth  to  God  and  man : 
"Lead  forward  to  some  kindlier,  wiser  plan!" 
Their  country's  cause,  these  brave 

men  died  for — yet, 

Their  own  high  faith  with  equal  faith  was  met. 
Fierce  foemen  they — yet  oft,  alike,  at  mother's  knee 
Were  taught  the  Christian's  code  of  loyalty, 
And  each  in  inmost  heart  had  vowed  to  stand 
Faithful  and  true  to  conscience's  high  demand. 
This,  the  revelation  of  the  years, 
Uncovers  tragedy  too  deep  for  tears. 
Time  hath  other  tragic  lessons  brought 
The  earth,  since  brother  here  with  brother  fought; 
Yet,  nations  dull  of  heart,  stubborn  of  will, 
Have  strong  and  stronger  forged  the  tools  that  kill, 
Unto  this  day — a  day  of  deeds  accursed — 
Flames  from  the  pit,  volcano-like  have  burst — 
A  holocaust  beneath  whose  baleful  glow 
Mothers'  sons  in  ranks  of  millions,  lying  low, 
Cry  out  to  earth  and  Heaven  that  war  shall  go ! 

Wherefore  fight?    By  woe,  and  waste,  and  blood, 
Can  truth  be  taught,  or  men  made  wise  and  good? 
O  blinded  peoples!     Flee  this  savage  state! 
Make  war,  henceforth,  on  courts  of  Justice  wait. 
For  hark!  the  murmurings  of  all  past  years, 
Deep  undertones  of  protest,  silences  of  tears! 
And  underneath  the  din  of  striving  tongues, 
Sterner,  steadier  than  thunder  of  the  guns, 
Comes  near  the  rumbling  of  Rebellion's  breath — 

15 


Christendom  against  this  Reign  of  Death! 
I  seem  to  hear  the  legions,  militant, 
And  on  the  upper  air  is  borne  their  chant: 

"By  all  the  cherished  hopes  of  those 

who  trust  in  coming  good, 
Who  blazon  on  their  banners  white 

their  faith  in  brotherhood, 
By  the  sacrifice  of  Him  we  name 

'The  Prince  of   Peace,' 
By  the  sure  promise  of  the  Holy  Book 

that  wars  shall  cease, 
By  the  woe  of  countless  mothers,  ye,  who 

know  a  mother's  heart, 
Take  up  their  cause,  O,  Christian  brothers, 

ye,  who  take  a  brother's  part! 
And  peoples  of  the  earth,  ye,  from 

its  farthest  land, 
Unite,  and  echo  round  the  world  a  wakened 

world's  demand ! 
Into  plowshares  beat  your  swords, 

uplift  the  arts  of  peace, 
For  love  and  brotherhood  shall  rule 

and  war  and  bloodshed  cease!" 

Then,  from  valleys,  misty  grey, 
Sounds  a  thrilling,  sobbing  tone — 

Voice  of  women — they  who  lay 
Tear-wet  buds  above  their  own: 

"Is  it  to  feed  the  maw  of  War 

Ye  nurse  the  man-child  at  the  breast, 
Only  to  see  his  body  torn, 
At  some  madman's  behest? 

16 


For  this  you  bred  him  strong  and  bold, 
And  cherished  every  charm? 

That  he   might   take  the  battle's   front, 
Men  ride  to  victory  o'er  his  form?" 

Nay!  By  the  love  with  which  we  loved  them, 
By  these  fragrant  flowers  we  strow, 

By  the  tears  we  shed  above  them, 
By  the  hate  of  hate  we  know, 
War — that  hell  of  waste  and  woe — 
Black  and  brazen  curse  must  go! 

By  the  pain  that  racked  them  long 

Ere  the  bullet's  work  was  done, 

By  the  torturing  weariness 

Ere  Hie  battle  day  was  won, 

War — that  hell  of  waste  and  woe, 
Black  and  brazen  curse  must  go!" 

Hear  the  children  making  moan, 
Orphaned,  hungry,  cold  and  lone! 
Know  this,  sure:  their  feeblest  cry 
Shall  rise  unto  the  Heavens,  high, 
And  every  rude,  untimely  tomb 
Shall  nearer  bring  the  day  of  doom! 
The  cup  of  wrath  doth  overflow. 
Judgment  thunders,  rumbling  low, 
Shall  drive  from  earth  war's  brutal  lust, 
And  break  its  engines  into  dust. 

Christ  of  Gethsemane!     Speak,  now! 
To  Thee  let  Kings  and  Captains  bow! 
Speak,  in  Thy  might,  the  regnant  word: 
"Put  up  thy  sword!     Put  up  thy  sword!" 


17 


THE  WHITE,  THE  RED,  THE 
STAR-SET  BLUE 

HOW  brightly  it  gleams,  like  a  lofty  light 
High  hung  to  illumine  the  nation's  night. 
Overhead,  like  a  flower  on  its  stem  it  sways, 
Every  stripe  pointing  straight  to  the  better  ways. 
It  is  freedom's  own  flower  and  the  heart  of  the  earth 
Long  nourished  the  seed  that  hath  given  it  birth. 

We  love  thee, 
O,  banner  of  freemen,  true, 
Our  flag,  white  and  red 

With  the  star-set  blue! 

Fair  flag  of  our  country,  glorious,  free, 
Far  flung  be  thy  colors  o'er  land  and  sea! 
For,  lo,  thou  art  Liberty's  foremost  sign 
Of  progress  and  justice  and  right,  divine! 
Thy  stars,  as  they  beam  through  the  field  of  blue, 
Are  like  to  the  stars  shining  over  us,  true! 

We  love  thee, 
O,  banner  of  freemen,  true, 
Our  flag,  white  and  red 

With  the  star-set  blue! 

Alone  to  the  forces  of  hate  and  ill, 

To  footsteps  that  blast,  to  the  hands  that  kill, 

Our  flag  flings  defiance.     By  brave  men  borne 

It  signals  to  foemen  their  wrath  and  scorn. 

For  right  shall  be  might  where  the  people  reign, 

Where  floats  our  proud  ensign  that  knows  no  stain. 

18 


We  love  thee, 
O,  banner  of  freemen,  true, 
Our  flag,  white  and  red 

With  the  star-set  blue! 

No  tyrant  bears  sway  underneath  its  stars, 
To  woman  or  man  there  are  set  no  bars, 
For  human  equality  standeth  still 
Supreme  in  the  might  of  the  people's  will. 
For  memories,  brave,  writ  on  all  its  folds, 
For  promise  of  good  every  symbol  holds, 

We  love  thee, 
O,  banner  of  freemen,  true, 
Our  flag,  white  and  red 

With  the  star-set  blue! 

Hail,  glorious  flag!  From  thy  stately  height, 
Wave  on  in  thy  beauty  for  God  and  Right ! 
So  clear  be  thy  colors,  so  pure  their  glow, 
Thy  shining  shall  banish  the  base  and  low, 
And  lift  to  new  levels  of  wisdom  and  might 
The  land  that  we  love,  with  its  ensign  bright ! 

We  love  thee, 
O,  banner  of  freemen,  true, 
Our  flag,  white  and  red 

With  the  star-set  blue! 


19 


RING  TRUE,  O  BELL! 

(The  bell  of  All  Soul's  Church  in  Washington  was  made  by  the  revolutionary  patriot, 
Paul  Revere.) 

RING  true,  O  bell, 
In  thine  old  and  ivied  tower 
Sound  thy  call  at  worship's  hour, 
Let  the  country's  rulers  hear 
The  patriot  call  of  Paul  Revere! 

Long,  long  ago, 

With  skillful  hand  he  fashioned  well 
Thy  brazen  round,  O,  ancient  bell! 
Through  thee  his  clarion  summons  rings. 
Still  calls  to  strife  for  better  things ! 

Ring  high,  O  bell, 
Let  thy  swelling  music  grow, 
Drown  clamor  of  the  mean  and  low, 
Catch  the  note  of  heavenly  chimes 
To  heal  the  discords  of  the  times! 

Ring  low,  O  bell, 
Catch  the  sob  of  earth's  distressed, 
Bid  it  stir  the  ruler's  breast, 
When  lowly  bowed  in  worship's  hour, 
To  rightly  use  God's  gift  of  power ! 

Ring  clear,  O  bell, 

When  sounds  of  tumult,  strife  and  greed 
Confuse  the  calls  of  human  need, 
When  counsels  bring  not  faith  or  light, 
Sound  one  clear  note  for  God  and  Right ! 

20 


Ring  on,  old  bell, 
Long  ere  the  spark,  electric,  bore 
Instant  thought  from  shore  to  shore, 
Thrilled  tidings  from  thy  iron  tongue 
O'er  storied  walls  of  Washington ! 

Still,  peal  on  peal, 
Voice  spirit  of  that  earlier  age, 
Our  country's  chiefest  heritage, 
Till  far-off  people  learn  thy  tone 
And  make  our  fathers'  faith  their  own! 


21 


SEQUENCES  OF  ERRORS 

HP1  HE  surf  to-night  is  heavy, 
•••        It  breaks  with  thunderous  roll, 
Like  sequences  of  errors 

Whose  memories  shake  my  soul. 
Far  out  beyond  my  vision, 

Some  cause  I  cannot  name 
Gave  force  to  yonder  breaker, 

Inrolling  like  a  flame. 

Even  so,  some  sin  or  failure, 

Far  back  along  life's  path, 
Gave  fury  to  the  tempest 

That  falls  on  me  in  wrath. 
Once,  I  could  curb  the  error 

But,  now,  cannot  restrain 
Force  gathered  since  I  gave 

That  wayward  impulse  rein. 

The  very  air  seems  heavy, 

Charged  with  a  weight  of  woe, 
For  tragedy  has  fallen — 

Fallen  like  a  sudden  blow. 
Who  knoweth  its  beginning? 

Was  it  in  scandal's  breath? 
What  trifles  in  their  keeping, 

Hold  ruin,  wreck  and  death! 

To  loose  the  rock  is  easy, 

Along  the  mountain  trail ; 
But  who  can  stay  its  falling 

Far  down  the  pleasant  vale? 
Then  soul,  O,  soul,  be  wary! 

So  slight  the  rock,  the  wave, 
So  strong  to  drive  ashore 

A  wreck — or  dig  a  grave! 

22 


IN  MEMORIAM 
HEROES  OF  THE  TITANIC 

OUT  of  the  night  leaped  the  sword  of  the  North ! 
In  silent  might  its  cruel  edge  struck  forth, 
While  not  a  sound  of  warning  swept  the  seas 
Where  sailed  the  Titan  ship — man's  master-piece. 

Hast  thou  a  prayer?     Lift,  now,  thy  voice  on  high! 
Pray!  for  the  iceberg's  chilling  breath  is  nigh. 
God  save  the  ship — let  it  safe  pathway  find, 
For,  lo,  it  beareth  men  of  kingly  kind! 

Too  late  for  plea  or  prayer !     Yet  God  is  just, 
And  when  the  ice-spears  made  their  fatal  thrust 
He  bade  them  touch  soul-depths — the  vital  flame 
That  burns  away  man's  selfishness  and  shame. 

Then  bright  against  the  background  of  our  woe, 
Limned  in  such  glory  all  must  know, 
Flashed  forth  as  with  the  stroke  of  flint  on  steel 
God's  noblest  work — humanity's  Ideal. 

Unblenchingly,  they  strove  with  Death  that  night — 
Strove  to  save;  to  keep  their  honor  bright. 
In  highest  sacrifice  wrought  out  God's  plan: 
To  give,  once  more,  His  measure  of  a  Man. 


23 


THE  LITLE  GREY  POSTMAN 

THE  Little  Grey  Postman  traveled  his  rounds, 
While  the  summers  faded,  o'er  and  o'er ; 
And  grey  was  his  horse  and  grey  was  his  cart 
And  grey  was  the  coat  that  he  wore. 

He  was  slender  and  old,  but,  twice  every  day, 

His  whistle  was  heard  without  fail. 

In  sunshine  or  snow  it  sounded  away, 

For,  come  what  would,  there  came  always  the  mail. 

A  rosy-cheeked  maiden  stood  oft  at  the  gate 
For  the  letter  her  lover  would  send  every  day, 
And  the  little  old  man  seemed  always  late 
To  the  heart  that  beat  so  eager  and  gay. 

She  smiled  and  she  sang  as  the  days  went  out, 
But  the  postman  wore  neither  smile  nor  frown, 
For,  if  no  letter  came,  he  knew  without  doubt, 
That  the  lover,  himself,  was  in  town. 

So  passed  the  days  until  one  brought  change; 
The  grey  pony  stopped  at  the  gate,  unbid, 
While  the  postman  murmured,  "  'Tis  passing  strange 
In  what  package  that  letter  of  hers  can  be  hid." 

It  may  be  that  he  missed  the  sunny  brown  locks, 
But  he  only  jogged  on  in  the  shimmering  noon, 
Nor  gave  sign  that  he  heard,  at  the  corner  box, 
The  softly  sweet  strains  of  a  wedding  tune. 


Did  it  matter  to  him  that  lovers  were  wee 
That  a  sweet  face  waited  his  coming  no  more? 
There  were  stories  like  that  every  day,  to  be  read 
In  the  bundles  of  mail  that  the  little  cart  bore. 

So,  year  in  and  year  out  rode  the  little  grey  rig 
In  the  treadmill  of  duty,  impassive  and  grim — 

24 


• 

The  faithful  old  pony,  the  rattling  old  gig, 
The  old  leathern  pouch  and  the  postman  slim. 

Until,  wistfully  waiting,  once  more  to  the  gate, 
Came  the  maiden  remembered,  tho'  girlhood  had  gone, 
And  she  looked  for  her  letter,  or  early  or  late, 
As  she  tended  her  children,  at  play  on  the  lawn. 

Did  the  old  man  mark  on  his  silent  ride, 
How  she  counted  those  days  of  waiting  and  strain? 
Did  he  wonder  if  love  or  the  lover  had  died, 
If  husband  or  home  would  come  ever  again? 

Was  he  glad  when  it  came — that  letter  so  late? 
Well  he  knew  the  bold  script  of  the  lover's  hand, 
Though  he  saw  on  its  face,  as  he  stopped  at  the  gate, 
The  odd  blue  stamp  of  a  foreign  land. 

O,  the  heart  beat  true,  'neath  the  old  grey  vest, 
To  the  lovers  that  loved  through  trials  untold, 
And  none  ever  knew  what  the  old  man  guessed 
Of  the  letter  that  came  from  the  land  of  gold, 

For  soon  the  worn  rig  and  the  old  man  grey 
Went  jogging  along  on  their  beat  no  more. 
A  long  delayed  message  came  one  day 
And  its  face  the  stamp  of  the  Home-land  bore. 

He  laid  down  his  pouch  and  sent  in  his  report: 
"Send  another  man  out  my  place  to  fill." 
And  the  little  grey  craft  came  swift  to  port — 
The  heart  'neath  the  blue  grey  coat  grew  still. 


But  the  little  grey  postman  who  carried  the  mail 
While  the  years  went  round  and  the  children  grew, 
Still  holdeth  a  place  that  cannot  fail 
In  the  hearts  of  those  who  knew. 

25 


AILEEN  OF  PRAIRIE  RONDE 

FAIR  was  she  as  a  spring  bloom 
Made  for  sunshine,  not  for  gloom, 

Aileen  of  Prairie  Ronde. 
A  country  maiden,  simple,  true, 
With  sunny,  smiling  eyes  of  blue, 
Aileen  of  Prairie  Ronde. 

Farmer  folks  her  parents  were, 
Cared  not  for  city  life  and  stir, 

Serene  in  Prairie  Ronde, 
They  planted,  harvested,  and  smiled 
To  think  their  thrift  should  serve  their  child — 

Aileen  of  Prairie  Ronde. 

Rode  to  the  ranch  one  summer  day 
A  lover  fine  with  manner  gay. 

O,  she  was  proud  and  fond! 
None  wondered  he,  so  grand  and  tall, 
Should  choose  the  fairest  rose  of  all, 
Aileen  of  Prairie  Ronde. 

The  friends  who  loved  her  smiled  to  see 
Her  eyes  grow  bright  with  love,  for  she 

Was  loved  of  all  around. 
And  oft  those  summer  days  'twas  said 
A  lucky  lad  he'd  be  to  wed 

Aileen  of  Prairie  Ronde. 

When  autumn  came,  all  lover-wise 
With  promises  and  soft  goodbyes 

That  seemed  to  seal  their  bond, 
So  fine,  so  false,  so  cruel  kind, 
He  went,  and  left,  forlorn,  behind, 

Aileen  of  Prairie  Ronde. 

26 


From  north  or  south  came  never  word, 
From  east  or  west  was  never  heard, 

Or  message,  sight  or  sound. 
Then  paled  her  cheek  and  drooped  away 
The  bonny  girl  once  bright  and  gay — 

Aileen  of  Prairie  Ronde. 

No  skill  could  save,  no  loving  art 
Availed  to  heal  the  broken  heart, 

So  pure,  so  true,  so  fond. 
And  soon,  oh  soon,  the  snowflakes  light 
Draped  her  couch  with  purest  white — 

Aileen  of  Prairie  Ronde. 

Whene'er  I  see  a  lily's  snow 
Crushed  by  careless  foot  lie  low, 

I  think  of  that  white  mound 
And  that  false  heart  doomed  to  regret. 
Let  fate  forbid  it  to  forget 

Aileen  of  Prairie  Ronde. 


27 


A  RETROSPECT 

1HAVE  looked  on  life  with  the  eye  of  a  child 
Whose  heaven  was  made  when  his  mother  smiled, 
And  the  truths  that  were  true  to  me  that  day 
In  the  tears  of  the  next  were  washed  away. 

I  have  looked  on  life  from  the  rosy  glade 
Where  it  shines  for  the  eyes  of  man  and  maid, 
Till  the  daily  friction  of  labor  and  care 
Has  stolen  the  bloom  it  was  wont  to  wear. 

I  have  looked  on  life  through  the  parent's  eye 
When  love  pulses  warmly  and  hope  beams  high, 
But  when  pathways  grew  rough  for  the  tender  feet 
Then,  the  cup  of  my  joy  was  but  bitter-sweet. 

I  have  looked  on  life  from  the  winner's  place 

On  a  glorious  day  in  a  worthy  race, 

Yet,  broken  and  lame  in  my  clumsy  shoes 

I  have  gone  away,  humbly,  with  those  who  lose. 

Youth  perceives  only  life's  sunshine  and  light, 
Dull  age,  but  the  shadows  of  coming  night. 
Still  I  hope,  in  some  realm  of  perennial  youth, 
To  view  it,  at  last,  from  the  standpoint  of  truth. 

Mirrored  but  darkly  by  prophet  and  seer, 
The  riddle  of  life  is  not  yet  clear. 
None  know  how  our  credits  and  debits  will  look 
When  open-eyed  Justice  shall  balance  her  book. 


28 


MEMORIAL  ROSES 

I  WILL  not  mourn  that  I  cannot  lay 
White  roses  of  love  on  thy  grave,  to-day, 
For  I  learned  in  thy  life,  beloved,  to  know 
In  what  fields  the  soul's  white  roses  grow — 
Fields,  where  the  hot  yellow  harvests  cry 
For  sacrifice,  full,  and  courage  high. 
I  would  weave  thee  a  chaplet  of  these  alone — 
Flowers  in  the  fields  of  service  grown! 


29 


THE  NATAL  TIE 

THE  sun  never  loosens  its  grip  on  the  beams 
That  stray,  far  and  wide,  over  deserts  and  streams. 
Born  in  its  deeps,  one  in  substance  and  name, 
Forever  they  are  fed  from  its  bosom  of  flame. 

The  sea  never  loses  one  breath  of  the  mist 
That  is  woo'd  from  the  billow  the  sun  hath  kissed. 
From  its  play  in  the  rill,  from  the  iceberg's  long  sleep, 
To  the  end,  it  is  bound  for  its  home  in  the  deep. 

The  heart  of  the  parent  never  loses  its  child 
Though  he  sleep  in  the  cradle  or  wander  the  wild. 
The  love,  that  once  bound  at  the  dear  home  hearth, 
Shall  bind  them,  for  aye,  in  Heaven  or  earth. 

So  the  Heavenly  Arm,  that  encircles  to  save, 
Will  hold  fast  His  own  through  death  and  the  grave. 
From  his  birthright,  divine,  no  power  shall  part, 
The  soul  anchored  safe  in  the  Father's  heart. 


30 


"HE  IS  RISEN" 
(ST.  JOHN  24TH  CHAPTER) 

THEY  were  blessed  who  walked  by  the  Saviour's  side 
Over   Palestine's  plains,   by   Tiberias'   tide, 
Who  at  Jordan's  shore  heard  the  voice  from  above, 
Saw  the  Spirit's  descent  in  the  form  of  a  dove, 
In  whose  presence  His  feet  trod  on  Galilee's  wave 
And  who  heard  him  call  Lazarus  forth  from  the  grave. 

They  were  blessed  who  received  benedictions  of  peace, 

When  from  death  and  the  grave  He  had  won  his  release. 

While  His  measureless  love  and  all  gifts  of  His  grace 

Shone  upon  them  from  His  glorified  face; 

But  the  blessing  of  blessing  is  kept  for  the  eyes 

Of  those  unto  whom,  in  His  light,  Christ  doth  rise 

To  shine  in  their  hearts,  once  in  darkness  and  sin, 

To  reign  on  the  throne  of  His  kingdom  within. 

Since  those,  unto  whom  He  appeared  from  the  grave, 

Were  sent  forth  by  His  mandate  to  seek  and  to  save, 

Let  not  hearts  upon  which  He  has  risen  be  slow 

To  work  for  the  Master  wherever  they  go. 

"Lo,  I  will  be  with  you  even  unto  the  end!" 

Is  His  promised  word — our  Redeemer  and  Friend. 


31 


MY  FATHER'S  PRAYER 

OFT,  in  retrospect,  I  see  this  picture  fair  unfold, 
In  heart  it  holds  a  sacred  niche,  all  framed  in 

memory's  gold: 

A  newly  risen  sun  sends  forth  its  freshest  morning  rays 
Across  the  long,  green  levels,  into  narrow  woodland  ways; 
On  snowy  breakfast  cloth  the  plenteous  morning  meal  is  spread ; 
Soft  silence  broods,  a  space,  the  Holy  Word  is  read; 
The  gathered  household  lowly  kneel,  and,  on  the  morning  air, 
I  seem  to  hear,  once  more,  the  echo  of  my  father's  prayer. 
All  incomplete  the  words  of  penitence  and  faith  and  praise, 
And,   yet,    like   stars    from   darkness   shining,    here   and   there, 

a  phrase 

Comes  ringing  down  the  years  to  one,  who  through  them  all, 
Believes  the  good  he  prayed  for  doth  in  blessing  on  us  fall. 
O,  heart  of  mine,  forget  it  not — that  dear,  old-fashioned  prayer ! 
But  lowly  bowed,  in  deed  and  truth,  each  wise  petition  share. 


32 


LOVE  RULES 

A    HYMN 

I  KNOW  not  why  so  often 
The  shadows  o'er  me  dwell, 
But  one  who  loves  me  ruleth, 
And  therefore  all  is  well. 

All  is  well, 

Yes,  surely  all  is  well, 
Love  rules  and  all  is  well. 

My  soul  still  questions  sadly, 
Of  sorrow,  pain  and  loss, 

Though  all  their  glorious  meaning 
Is  shining  from  the  cross: 
All  is  well, 

Yes,  surely  all  is  well, 

Love  rules  and  all  is  well. 

0  soul,  so  slow  in  learning 
Thy  part  to  do  God's  will! 

Though  weary,  troubled,  weeping, 
Have  hope,  have  faith.     Know  stil 

All  is  well, 

Yes,  surely  all  is  well, 
Love  rules  and  all  is  well. 

1  choose  Thee!      Yet  my  Father, 
Crave  still  the  worldly  show. 

O  cleanse  me.     Rule  me  wholly, 
So  I,  through  grace  may  £n0n> 

All  is  well, 

Yes,  surely  all  is  well, 
Lv,ve  rules  and  all  is  well. 


33 


CALIFORNIA  POPPIES 

SOME  sparks  of  California  gold 
Grew  vital  in  her  teeming  mold 
And  sent  soft  clinging  leaflets  up, 
Each   folding  close  a  golden  cup. 
All  hidden  till  the  warm  showers  came, 
When,  lo,  the  foot-hills  seemed  aflame! 
And  poppy  fields  in  yellow  grace 
Draped  round  the  lofty  mountain's  base, 
A  fair  and  fitting  floral  sign 
Of  golden  wealth  in  field  and  mine. 


34 


IN  HIS  HAND 

1  TRUST.     I  do  not  understand. 
I  give  me  to  my  Maker's  hand. 
He  knows  the  metal  He  has  made — 
What  heat  will  temper  this  crude  blade, 
And  not  one  whit  too  soon  or  late 
Will  send  the  messenger  of  fate. 
His  key  may  ope  that  way  or  this, 
I'll  not  complain:  my  time  is  His. 


35 


THE  UNFAILING  GUIDE 

THOUGH  winds  may  be  contrary,  give  thee  no  rest, 
Though  waves  may  repel  thee  or  haste  thy  behest; 
Not  aught  of  it  matters.     He  chooseth  for  thee 
Who  once  stilled  the  tempest  on  far  Galilee. 

He  knew  there  were  young  ones  and  weak  ones  and  frail 
And  erring,  whose  faith,  like  Peter's  would  fail, 
And  He  holds  them  all  safe.     His,  the  way,  His,  the  sea, 
His,  also,  the  Port  where  the  storm-tossed  would  be. 

His  moonbeams  stray  not  through  the  aisles  of  the  night; 
His  star-worlds  miss  never  their  orbits  of  light; 
And  not  less  shalt  thou,  though  a  child  of  the  dust, 
Be  held  of  the  Spirit  in  Whom  is  thy  trust ! 


36 


RESURRECTION  HYMN 

SOUND  forth  your  harps,  below,  above, 
Sing   praises   to   Almighty    Love! 
Lo,  Death  is  dead  and  Life  is  born 
This   morn   of   blessing — Easter   morn! 

Declare,  O  sun  and  bud  and  bloom, 
The  broken  bonds  of  nature's  tomb! 
While  pulsing  life  each  leaf-bud  swells, 
Ring  bells  of  Easter,  lily  bells! 

Since  Christ  arose,  we,  too,  shall  rise. 
Then  sing,  ye  hills  of  Paradise! 
Let  praises  every  tongue  employ, 
O,  joy  immortal,  Easter  joy ! 


37 


SONG  OF  JOCHEBED— MOSES'  LULLABY 

SLEEP,  child,  within  thy  bed  of  rushes, 
Sleep  sweet  while  wind  and  wavelet  hushes; 
For  One  shall  pluck  thee  from  the  waters 
Who  sees  the  tears  of  Israel's  daughters. 
He  feeleth  all  our  grief  and  sighing, 
He  knows  our  love  and  faith  undying; 
His  guard  around  thee — more  than  regal, 
Holds  thee  safe  as  the  young  eagle. 

Refrain:  Sleep  sweetly — angel  bands  are  near 
To  safely  fend  from  foe  or  fear; 
To  sing  to  thee,  songs  soft  and  low, 
Such  songs  as  only  angels  know; 
To  hold  thee,  fold  thee,  guard  thee  well, 
My  son,  my  hope  for  Israel — 
The  hope,  the  hope  of  Israel. 

To  Egypt's  wrath  thou  art  not  given, 
I  yield  thee  to  the  love  of  Heaven. 
My  heart  shall  shrink  not,  fail  nor  falter 
To  lay  thee  here  as  on  an  altar. 
Through  thee,   as  in  the  ancient  story, 
Our  God  shall  manifest  His  glory, 
And  though  the  yellow  Nile  may  rock  thee, 
Pharoah's  gods  shall  never  mock  thee. 

Still  lives  the  God  of  Israel's  mothers, 
Whose  sorrows  rise  beyond  all  others. 
His  promise  holds  that  arms  of  her 
Shall  cradle  the  Deliverer; 
And  in  my  soul  a  voice  revealing 
Proclaims  thee  for  the  people's  healing. 
His  truth  abides;  His  word  hath  spoken; 
The  bonds  of  Jacob  shall  be  broken. 
38 


NATURE 

WHO  loves  not  Nature  hath  not  walked  with  her 
Beneath  the  stars,  beside  the  murmuring  sea, 
Among  the  flowers  or  in  the  fragrant  woods. 
Hath  not,  with  quiet  heart  and  mind,  traversed 
The  peaceful  windings  of  a  country  road 
Where  every  wild  rose  wears  a  welcoming  smile. 
The  worried  hearts  and  hurried  feet  that  pass 
Consider  not  the  lilies,  how  they  grow, 
Or  they  must  love  fair  Nature's  changing  show — 
Her  tender  moods,  her  apple  blooms  and  rose, 
The  graceful  willows  drooping  over  banks 
Where  rippling  brooks  go  singing  toward  the  sea, 
Gold  of  sunsets,  rainbow  arch  and  cloud 
Of  sun-kissed  whiteness  hint  of  Heaven  above, 
Of  undreamed  beauty  in  the  Land  of  Love. 


39 


CALIFORNIA— A  PICTURE 

/"^ALLAS  and  roses  and  white  marguerites, 
^^   Scent  of  the  oranges'  blossoming  sweets, 
Stately  magnolias  shedding  perfumes, 
Palm  trees  gracefully  waving  their  plumes, 
Fig  trees  spreading  their  branches  wide, 
Cushions  of  green  where  the  violets  hide, 
Green,  spreading  vales  with  their  verdurous  vines 
Entwining  the  trunks  of  odorous  pines! 

Soft  rolls  the  fog  from  the  canyon  deeps, 
Purples  the  robe  of  the  rock-covered  steeps, 
Changes  the  radiant  hues  of  the  day, 
Darkens  the  green,  turns  the  blue  into  gray ! 
Riot  of  color  and  sheen  of  the  sun 
Fade!  and  the  beautiful  day  is  done — 
Gone  with  its  grace,  its  glow  and  its  glee — 
Day  in  this  land  by  the  western  sea. 


40 


APOSTROPHE  TO  THE  HUDSON 

BEAUTIFUL  river,  dream  of  my  dreams, 
I  sail  on  thy  brightness,  I  gaze  on  thy  gleams, 

And  no  wonder  have  I 

That,  in  years  gone  by, 

Brave  men  of  my  blood 

Should  have  sailed  o'er  the  flood 
To  hew  them  out  homes  by  thy  side. 
Then,  as  now,  thou  wert  fair  as  a  bride. 

Trailing  from  thy  jeweled  crown, 

The  gray  fogs  drape  thy  gown. 

By  far-off  sunbeams  kissed 

Thy  fair  veil's  changing  mist 
With  feathery,  floating  softness  fills 
The  glory  and  strength  of  thy  castled  hills. 

Bright  river  of  beauty,  of  song  and  of  fame, 
Since  Hudson  discovered  and  gave  thee  thy  name, 

How  humanity's  tides 

Have  surged  at  thy  sides! 

And  Fulton's  high  dream, 

When  he  harnessed  the  steam 
To  the  fleets  of  the  sea,  made  conquest  complete; 
And  lo,  the  round  earth  lays  its  gifts  at  thy  feet! 

Changeless  the  grace 

Of  thy  classic  face! 

And  thy  green  hills  shall  stand 

The  pride  of  the  land — 

Where  its  noble  have  lived,  where  its  poets  have  trod, 
And  learned,  in  thy  smile,  of  the  beauty  of  God. 


41 


ON  MOUNTAIN  TOPS 

(  Written  on  the  summit  of  Tennessee  Pass,  Colorado,  where  the  waters  of 
the  Atlantic  and  Pacific  divide.) 

THOU  givest  life  that  man  may  rise 
Toward  Thee,  O  Lord,  and  Thy  pure  skies, 
May  upward  mount,  on  eagle  wings, 
And  join  the  song  all  Nature  sings. 
Why  dwelleth  he,  in  groveling  ways, 
When  peaks  on  peaks  rise  up  to  praise  ? 
Why  sink  in  damps,  unblessed  of  sun, 
When  waters,  pure  and  shining,  run 
To  show  their  joy  in  serving  Thee 
As  they  rush  onward  to  the  sea? 
O  Thou,  whose  miracle  uplifts 
These  rocks  and  ridges,  mounts  and  cliffs, 
Teach  us  by  miracle  to  know 
The  path  in  which  our  souls  may  grow 
To  join  these  hills  and  water-ways 
In  praise  for  growth  and  growth  to  praise ! 


42 


INSEPARABLE 

MOURN  not  too  much  o'er  broken  ties, 
Safe,  at  the  journey's  ending,  lies 

Sweet  Heaven's  rest. 
The  hearts  that  love  are  Heaven-sent 
To  scatter  forth  the  blessings  lent, 

At  God's  behest. 

As  part  twin  drops,  on  mountain  peak, 
To  shed  on  plains  and  forest  bleak, 

Moisture  and  bloom — 
One  east,  one  west,  afar  and  free, 
Until  they  meet  in  cloud  or  sea — 

Their  primal  home, 
So  loved  and  loving  hearts  may  fare, 
Apart,  o'er  rocks  and  deserts,  bare, 

Rejoiced  to  give 
To  thirsty  lips,  in  time  of  need, 
The  cup  of  water — blessed  meed — 

That  bids  men  live. 

Nor  north,  nor  south,  nor  low,  nor  high, 
Much  matters  to  the  wings  that  fly 

Like  Noah's  dove, 

So  blind,  so  sure,  through  storm  and  dark, 
Onward,  toward  home,  the  peaceful  ark 

Of  God's  great  love. 
Such  ties  are  of  the  spirit  born, 
By  time  or  distance  never  torn. 

O  Love  Divine, 

The  ways  that  part  but  lead  to  Thee, 
The  struggles  brave,  the  labors  free, 

Perfect,  refine! 

Ties  hold,  unbroken ;  tension,  true, 
Brings  back  to  love,  its  own,  its  due, 

In  days  to  come. 

Like  drops  that  meet  in  Ocean's  breast, 
So  love,  with  Love,  shall  find  its  rest 

In  Heaven's  home. 
43 


EVER  PRESENT 

LIKE  a  swife-flying  journey,  our  days  speed  along; 
There  is  sorrow  and  work,  there  is  laughter  and  song; 
But  never  a  voyage  so  dull  or  so  fair 
But  it  needeth  the  grace  of  an  answered  prayer. 
In  depths  or  in  heights,  storm  or  sun,  work  or  strife, 
O,  hear  our  petitions,  Thou  God  of  all  life! 

If  amid  fragrance  and  peace,  along  blossoming  shores, 

Enwrapt  in  soft  airs,  we  abandon  our  oars, 

Awake  us  to  action,  make  fit  for  the  gale 

And  bear  up  the  weak  craft  in  which  we  must  sail, 

That  we,  in  the  battle,  may  voice  forth  Thy  psalms 

And  find  peace  amid  strife,  O,  Thou  God  of  the  calms. 

When  night,  in  its  blackness,  uncovers  no  star, 

When  lightnings  flash  keen  and  dread  thunders  jar, 

'Mid  quakings  of  earth  and  the  hurricane's  breath, 

In  hours  of  alarm — eye  to  eye,  we  and  death, 

Our  timorous  souls,  from  the  furies  that  swarm, 

Hide  Thou  in  Thy  stronghold,  Lord  God  of  the  storm! 

When,  through  wearisome  days,  we've  made  ready  the  soil 
And  sowed  the  good  seed  with  full  measure  of  toil, 
From  weeds  and  from  rust,  from  blight  and  from  hail, 
May  our  fields  be  protected,  that  food  may  not  fail! 
Let  sunshine  and  moisture  develop  the  grains — 
O  ripen  our  harvests,  Thou  God  of  the  plains! 

If  we  sink  in  unwholesome,  malarious  vales, 

Until,  soul-sick  and  sin-sick,  the  strength  in  us  fails, 

Lift  us  up,  like  Thy  mountains;  give  us  power  to  bestow 

Shelter  and  blessing  to  dwellers  below! 

O,  teach  us  to  live  far  beyond  petty  ills, 

Nearer  Thee  and  Thy  Heaven,   Lord,   God  of  the  hills! 

44 


SUNSET  BY  THE  SEA 

LIKE  diamonds  a-quiver  the  great  sea's  breast 
Is  flashing  afar  towards  the  measureless  west. 
Undisturbed  by  the  clamor  and  clash  of  the  tide 
The  butterfly  boats  of  the  fishermen  ride. 
Across  the  blue  bay  where  the  shadows  lie 
Catalina's  grey  peaks  greet  the  sunset  sky. 
O'er  the  purple  and  pink-robed  hills  awhile 
Lingers  the  sun  with  a  parting  smile — 
A  swift-fading  smile  that  leaves  never  a  spark 
As  the  tossing  waves  grow  dense  and  dark. 

The  isles  disappear  at  the  touch  of  the  brush 
Of  the  artist  who  sails  in  the  twilight's  hush, 
Painting  new  scenes  on  land,  sea  and  sky 
As  evening  and  day-time  greet  and  pass  by. 
The  stars  shine  forth  from  the  darkening  dome, 
The  waves  loom  black  'neath  their  caps  of  foam, 
And  we  watch  all  alone — the  stars  and  I — 
With  the  sounding  sea  and  the  silent  sky. 


45 


AFTER  THE  RAIN. 

HOW  blue  is  the  sky, 
Like  an  infant's  eye! 

How  the  emeralds  beam  from  each  leaf  on  the  tree ! 
Now  the  rain-washed  air 
With  a  clearness  rare, 
Sweeps  down  from  the  mountain  and  up  from  the  sea. 

It  has  brushed  the  green  pine 

On  the  high  mountain  line, 
It  is  filtered  by  passing  the  crystalline  veil 

That  envelopes  the  height 

Where  the  frost-wings  light, 
And  down  ladders  of  sunshine  it  reaches  the  vale. 

Every  lily  lifts  up 

Its  gold-centered  cup, 
And  the  grass  of  the  rain-swept  lawns  shines  fair. 

On  the  clover  and  rose 

And  the  violet  glows 
The  joy  of  the  breath  of  the  life-giving  air. 

Upon  lofty  Mount  Lowe 

There  are  ribbons  of  snow ; 
Below,  there  are  streamlets  that  laugh,  as  they  run, 

With  the  shadows  that  slide 

Down  the  green  valley  side 
Where  the  oranges  hang  red-ripe  in  the  sun. 

Hear  the  joy  of  the  birds 

Told  in  songs  without  words, 
Breathe  the  mingled  elixir  of  mountain  and  sea! 

Ever,  sun  follows  rain; 

So  there's  joy  after  pain; 
Therefore  smile  while  all  nature  is  smiling  on  thee! 

46 


THE  LESSON  OF  THE 
MOUNTAIN  TOP 

FROM  childhood  I  have  loved  to  mark 
Each  phase  that  nature  wore, 
And  longed  for  wings  to  fly  afar 

O'er  mountain,  sea  and  shore — 
Afar  from  prairies  stretching  wide, 

Where  peaceful  rivers  run — 
That  vast  mid-land  'twixt  the  seas, 

Whose  corn  fields  greet  the  sun. 
I  longed  to  spread  the  cloud-ships'  sails 

And  float  with  them  away, 
To  see  the  ocean,  lashed  with  storm, 

And   feel  the  salt  sea's  spray. 
I  longed  the  mountain  peaks  to  scale, 

To  find  the  lofty  spot, 
Above  the  clouds  and  near  the  sky 

Where  toil  intrudeth  not, 
That  I  might  breathe,  with  all  my  soul, 

The  solemn  rapture  in 
And  feel  that  I  and  all  God's  works 

And  God,  Himself,  are  kin. 
And  He,  Who  gives  the  hungry  bread, 

The  thirsty,  cooling  streams, 
Has  lent  man  power  to  scale  the  heights 

Where  nature's  grandeur  gleams 
Beside  the  glorious  skill  of  man, 

Who  caught  the  electric  spark, 
Ascends  the  mountains  by  its  might, 

Makes  luminous  the  dark. 
Now,  by  its  power,  I  tread  the  heights 

While  cloud-waves  roll  below, 

47 


The  world  of  work  and  worry  hid 

Beneath  their  breasts  of  snow. 
I  view  the  canyon's  yawning  deeps, 

By  storm  and  earthquake  torn, 
The  rocks  where  gold  and  silver  hide, 

The  depths  where  clouds  are  born. 
Like  vast  cathedral  aisles,  they  call 

My  soul  to  solemn  calm. 
Clad  in  the  glory  of  the  pines, 

They  chant  a  holy  psalm. 
I  catch  a  lofty,  far  off  note, 

Beyond  the  song  of  birds 
Or  whispering  pines,  and  feel  the  spell 

Of  meaning  passing  words. 
The  sunlight  melts  the  clouds  away. 

The  level  valleys  shine 
As  free  from  roughness,  hill  or  vale 

As  yonder  water  line. 
The  uplift  of  the  hills  forbids 

Our  eyes  to  see  the  ways 
Where  rocks  and  ridges  weary  us 

Through  long  and  toilsome  days. 
So,  hath  the  balm  from  heights,  serene, 

Where  lofty  spirits  dwell, 
Oft  healed  the  wounds  that  life  hath  made 

And  soothed  us  by  its  spell. 
O  rock,  to  rock  the  message  bear, 

O,  clap  your  hands,  ye  hills, 
That  man,  to  man  may  speak  the  word 

Vour  broad  horizon  thrills ! 
Let  spires  of  rock  and  pine  cry  out 

To  men,  "Climb  upward!     Grow 
Beyond  the  mole-hills  where  ye  faint, 

So  weak,  so  lost,  so  low!" 
O,  Thou,  who  from  the  mountain  side 

48 


Taught  men  the  path  to  light, 
Thou  knowest  the  feet  too  weak  to  climb 

O  bear  us  the  height! 
And  send  to  us  the  spark,  Divine, 

Our  souls  to  energize, 
Lift  from  the  sod  to  hills  of  God — 

Green  hills  of  Paradise! 


49 


THE  SEA  MOTHER'S  SONG 

HUSH,  hush,  hush! 
The  Sea  Mother's  song  is  a  lullaby  long. 
Her  cradle  rocks  east  and  her  cradle  rocks  west, 
It  swings  and  sways,  at  the  waves'  behest, 
With  the  babes  of  the  sea  in  their  pearl-lined  nest. 

Hush,  hush,  hush! 

This  song  does  she  sing,  as  the  great  waves  swing 
Her  restless  babes  in  their  toilsome  arms; 
And  they  heed  not  at  all  the  sea's  alarms; 
Not  a  fear  have  they  of  its  haps  and  harms. 

Hush,  hush,  hush! 

If  the  sea  babies  cry  when  their  cradle  swings  high- 
If  they  cry  for  a  piece  of  the  round,  yellow  moon, 
Her  lullaby  song  she  will  croon  and  croon — 
The  Sea  Mother's  song  from  noon  to  noon: 

Hush,  hush,  hush! 


50 


THE  WAKING  OF  SPRING  IN  THE  NORTH 

THE  children  are  waiting  and  watching  for  Spring, 
The  birds  are  waiting,  too  cold  to  sing, 
The  young  calves  stand  lowing  beside  the  hay, 
The  lambkins  are  calling  from  far  away. 
What  keeps  her  so  long — has  the  frolicsome  maid 
Paused  to  play,  all  this  time,  with  the  winds  on  the  glade? 
In  her  gray-green  robe  she  has  fallen  asleep, 
And  the  lambkins'  call  nor  the  bird's  "cheep,  cheep!" 
Will  cause  her  to  wake  or  to  open  her  eyes. 
"I  will  arouse  her,"  the  brooklet  cries, 
As  it  breaks  from  the  ice  and  ripples  clear. 
But  the  Spring  keeps  napping.     She  will  not  hear. 
"Wake  up,  wake  up!"  cries  a  whistling  breeze, 
And  he  rings  the  bells  in  all  the  trees. 
Then,  the  shivering  young  things  all  sob  and  cry 
Till  the  mist  of  their  tears  rises  up  to  the  sky. 
The  South  Wind  awakes  with  a  mighty  frown, 
He  flaps  his  great  wings  to  shake  the  mist  down, 
And  it  falls  in  great  drops — drops  of  warm,  soft  rain. 
Each  soft  little  hammer  keeps  tapping  the  plain, 
Till  the  frost  is  driven  from  farm  and  field 
And  the  great  ice  bridges  melt  and  yield — 
When,  lo,  we  look  up  and  the  rain  is  gone, 
While  there,  wide  awake,  Spring  smiles  in  the  sun! 


51 


THAT  CAT 

DRAT  that  cat!"  said  Tom,  "I  drove 
It  off  a  dozen  times  or  more, 
And  here  it  is  a-mewing,  now, 
Right  at  the  kitchen  door." 

Tom  hurled  a  stick  to  scare  it  hence, 
And  sat  him  down,  when  from  the  front 

Came  shrieking  tones:     "I've  tried  to  drive 
That  cat  away  and  go  it  wont." 

Then  Lou  put  on  her  leather  gloves. 

(Cats  in  that  house  were  taboo.) 
She  bore  it  bravely  to  the  barn, 

"And  now  it  can't  get  back,"  said  Lou. 

She  shut  the  doors  and  stopped  the  holes, 
Thought  not  how  swift  a  kitten  goes, 

While  pausing  at  the  kitchen  door 
Where  Bridget  washed  the  clothes. 

"And  what  will  I  be  doin',  plaze? 

How  can  I  wurruk  wid  the  wee  baist 
Under  me  feet?"  quoth  she,  and  pushed 

The  cat  aside  with  high  distaste. 

Then  Lou  stood  speechless  quite  a  space — 
"I'm  beat,"  she  owned,  and  "I'll  be  switched, 

Called  Tom,  "If  I  don't  half  believe 
That  brindled  feline  is  bewitched." 

But  pa  and  ma — they  only  laughed 
At  Lou's  poor  sight  and  her  slow  pace. 

"Quick  as  a  cat  you'll  have  to  be," 
They  said,  "to  beat  one  in  a  race." 

52 


Then,  ma  pulled  out  the  middle  drawer 
(The  table  linen  there  we  keep), 

And  snugly  in  the  whiteness  there 
That  wretched  kitten  lay  asleep. 

Then  pa  and  ma  and  Tom  and  Lou 
Were  ready  to  believe  the  worst, 

But  finding  space  behind  the  drawer, 
They  knew  the  cat  had  found  it  first. 

Yet,  an  uncanny  feeling  stayed 
And  we  were  weary  of  that  cat, 

And  very  cautiously  locked  up 

Our  doors  and  windows  after  that. 

One  night  the  cat  was  out  all  safe, 
Lou  drew  the  window  up  to  see, 

And  there  with  slant  eyes,  all  alike, 
She  saw  not  one  striped  cat — but  three. 


53 


THE  CHALLENGE  OF  THE  SEA 

HO,  landsmen!      See  my  ranks  advance! 
On,  to  the  fray  they  leap,  they  prance; 
Their  white  plumes  toss  the  spray  aside, 
In  glistening  uniform  they  ride! 
Proud  flash  their  spears!     In  serried  bands, 
With  rush  and  roar  they  lash  the  sands; 
For  now  my  warrior  waves  ride  high 
And  the  screaming  winds  in  panic  fly! 
I  am  the  Sea  and  my  high  will, 
All  these,  my  vassals,  shall  fulfill ! 

Bow  low,  ye  haughty  hills  of  earth, 

I  tossed  ye  from  my  bosom  forth ! 

One  onslaught  of  my  maddened  waves 

Would  send  your  dust  to  line  my  caves, 

For  continents  lie  buried  where 

My  sea  nymphs  trail  their  yellow  hair. 

My  soldiers  fall.     They  never  die, 

And  none  are  missed  when  tides  ride  high! 

I  am  the  Sea !     Rouse  not  my  ire, 

I  toy  with  thunders,  laugh  at  fire ! 

See  my  white  chargers  leap  and  neigh 

And  fling  their  manes  of  silver  spray ! 

From  cavern  deeps  where  they  are  born 

They  ride  in  wrath,  they  curl  in  scorn ! 

From  deep  sea  towers,  great  bells  of  doom 

Ring  warnings  forth:    "Make  room!    Make  room! 

I  am  the  Sea — the  regnant  Main ! 

I  brook  no  bar.     I  wear  no  chain! 


54 


IN  THE  CONGRESSIONAL  LIBRARY  AT 
WASHINGTON 

HAD  I  a  poet's  gifts,  with  which  to  tell 
What  subtle  charm  doth  in  these  marbles  dwell, 
Could  this  uplift  of  soul  be  put  in  word 
Or  that  which  fills  my  eyes  with  tears  be  heard, 
Then  would  the  voice  of  ages  find  a  tongue, 
The  stateliest  psalm  of  history  be  sung; 

For  down  these  many-pillared  corridors — 
These  carved  memorials  of  work  and  wars, 
Resounds  the  tread  of  hosts,  whose  battle  blade 
Protector  stood  of  Law  and  Art  and  Trade, 
The  echoes  joining  harmonies  sublime 
To  which  the  feet  of  ages  have  kept  time. 

Here,  writ  in  stone,  beneath  this  golden  dome, 

Art's  changing  story  read ;  find,  too,  the  fitting  home 

Of  highest  thought  man  ever,  yet,  in  clay 

Or  stone  or  book  embodied.     Read,  and  pay 

Fit  meed  to  those  whose  skill  has  reared  and  set  apart 

This  shrine,  this  gem,  this  monument  of  art! 

Here,  marbles  bloom,  with  frozen  flame,  alight, 
And  nobly  link  man's  skill  with  Heaven's  might. 
The  mountain's  heart  has  lent  these  hues  to  man, 
The  frost  and  foam,  the  wave  and  cloud,  his  plan; 
And  none  may,  blindly,  through  these  arch-ways  plod, 
Beyond  the  artist,  is  the  artist's  God. 


55 


THE  PIONEER  PASTOR 

A    ND  he  has  gone — that  dear  and  saintly  man 

To  whom  my  youthful  eyes  were  wont  to  look 
For  light  and  guidance  in  the  heavenward  way. 
And  I  no  more  shall  take  the  hand  whose  clasp 
Of  friendship  was  so  dear,  nor  e'er  repeat 
The  farewell  oft  renewed,  as  year  by  year, 
From  devious  wanderings,  pilgrim-like,   I  came 
To  that  bright  home  set  gem-like  mid  the  green 
Far  stretching  prairie  land. 

This  grassy,  breeze-swept,  billowy  plain, 
Untrodden  and  uncultured,  met  his  gaze 
When  with  the  adventurous  band  of  pioneers 
He  journeyed  from  their  pleasant  homes  within 
The  fair  metropolis  of  the  western  world. 
Lone  messenger  of  the  Cross,  he  came 
To  plant  the  banner  of  his  Master  here 
And  gather  'neath  its  folds  the  wandering  sheep 
Of  that  wild  pasture — so  many  years  ago. 
Not  then,  as  now,  with  space-subduing  power, 
Swift  engines  sped  across  the  land;  no  spark 
Electric  bound  together  east  and  west. 
Then,  messages  from  sundered  friends  were  long 
Delayed.     Then  they  who  chose  a  lot  like  his 
Spoke  farewells  that  in  this  swift  age  are  like 
To  none  save  those — the  last  death  grants  to  love. 
Yet,  hand  in  hand,  with  her  who  shared  his  life 
He  braved  the  hardships  of  the  way,  nor  deemed 
Their  sacrifice  too  great  if  thus  he  best 
Might  serve  the  Lord. 

56 


O,   self-indulgent   heart, 

May  kindling  sparks  from  off  the  altar  fires 
That  rise  in  token  of  accepting  grace 
Where  consecrated  lives  like  his  are  spent 
In  holy  service,  quicken  thine  to  like 
Devotion!     See  him  leave  the  city  fair, 
Bright  scenes  of  busy  life  and  social  joy, 
The  shrines  of  learning  and  the  haunts  of  art, 
The  heavenward  pointing  spire,  the  Sabbath  bell, 
Loved  friends,  and  e'en  the  graves  where  slept 

the  babes 

Beloved  and  early  lost;  then  ask  thine  heart 
If  such  a  spirit  moves  thy  work  for  Christ. 
See  him  for  love  of  Christ  and  of  men's  souls, 
In   consecration    full,    forsaking   all 
The  fair  surroundings  of  a  Christian  growth 
And  culture  germs  of  which  he  came  to  plant 
In  these  then  western  wilds.     Behold  him  still, 
All  unsustained  by  plaudits  of  the  world, 
Steadfast  pursue  his  self-denying  toil. 
Not  by  a  world-acknowledged  estimate, 
Weighed  he  the  work  to  which  the  Spirit  called. 
Round  him  he  drew  the  children  of  his  flock 
And  meekly  taught  them ;  joyful  if  he  thus 
Fulfilled  the  high  commission  of  his  King 
And  followed  in  the  steps  of  Him  who  taught: 
"The  servant  is  not  greater  than  his  Lord." 

The  fierce,  frost-laden  blasts  of  winter  blew, 
And  radiant  springs  unlocked  the  icy  doors. 
The  glowing  summers  strewed  their  prairie  flowers, 
And  autumns  garnered  in  their  sheaves  of  gold 
While  Sabbath  by  Sabbath,  unfaltering,  he 
Proclaimed  that  Love's  divine  effulgence  which 
Can  melt  the  ice-barred  doors  of  wintry  souls 

57 


And  bid  them  in  eternal  beauty  bloom. 

He  saw  the  harvest  white,  the  laborers  few, 

The  sheaves  of  souls.     In  persevering  love 

He  prayed,  "O,  guide  them  to  Thy  Harvest  home." 

All  seasons  heard  the  story  of  His  love 

Whose  Spirit  guides  the  faithful  lives 

Of  men  like  him.     He  gleaned  in  harvests,  scant 

But  dear,  unto  the  Shepherd,  kind,  who  left 

The  nine  and  ninety  that  he  might  reclaim 

One  wanderer  home  into  the  fold. 

His  eye  grew  dim. 

Age  crowned  his  head  with  hoary  locks,  yet,  still 
He  taught.     I  see  him  now,  as  with  bowed  head 
He  seeks  a  Father's  benediction  on 
The  newly  wedded;  see  him  upon  the  infant  head 
His  hand  in  the  baptismal  blessing  lay, 
And,  yet  again,  by  couch  of  pain  repeat 
Blest  words  of  comfort  from  the  holy  book. 
At  loved  ones'  graves  I  hear  his  voice  declare 
"I  am  the  Resurrection  and  the  Life." 
I  cannot  think  him  dead — that  toiler,  true, 
Whose  meek  awaiting  of  the  summons  preached 
In  words  more  eloquent  than  speech  the  worth 
Of  earnest  lives.     His  voice  is  speaking,  still, 
To  shame,  O  sluggish  soul,  thy  strivings  weak. 
May  He  who  kept  that  heart  close  to  His  own 
Through  years  of  well-nigh  thankless  toil,  grant  us 
A  touch  that  shall  impel  our  lives  henceforth 
To  kindred  service. 
O,  not  alone  the  sacrifice,  is  his, 
Nor  yet  the  long  and  unappreciated  toil. 
The  crown,  the  blessing  of  the  faithful  waits 
For  such,  the  Lord's  "well  done,"  the  mansions,  fair, 
Where  Jesus  is.     Into  thy  life  of  ease, 

58 


Of  worldliness,  of  care,  receive,  O,  soul, 

The  lesson  of  this  great  life,  fitly  closed. 

For  Christ  leave  all,  and  having  found  thy  work, 

Toil,  trust,  endure,  if  so  God  will. 

Esteem  not  earth  but  recompense  divine. 

So  shall  thy  sun,  like  his,  go  down  in  peace. 

Long  shall  his  gracious  memory  abide, 

Touched  with  something  of  the  glory 

Radiant  from  its  rising  over  on 

The  Heavenward  side. 


59 


CALIFORNIA  FREE 

TUNE  AMERICA 

California  free— 
Dear  home  of  liberty, 
Your  voices  raise! 
For  victory  long  sought, 
For  law,  new-born  of  thought 
The  Master  lived  and  taught, 
Give  God  the  praise! 

O,  messenger  of  joy, 
Your  highest  notes  employ, 

Till  nations  learn 
How  men  of  might  and  will 
Bow  down  to  justice  still, 
Her  mandate  to  fulfill 

Their  chief  concern. 

Hail  onward  march  of  right, 
Hail  freedom's  latest  light, 

Her  golden  hour! 
Let  justice  rule  the  land, 
Her  righteous  codes  command 
That  give  the  mother's  hand 

Just  meed  of  power. 

Lead  on,  yield  never  place 
For  subject  sex  or  race, 

O  glorious  State! 
Plant  firm  on  thy  fair  heights 
The  flag  of  equal  rights, 
For  on  its  guiding  lights 

The  nations  wait. 

60 


Let  men  through  all  our  bounds 
Rejoice.     Here  Freedom  sounds 

Her  highest  word. 
From  mountain  crests  of  snow, 
From  flowered  vales  below 
Let  grateful  anthems  flow. 

Praise  we  the  Lord ! 


01 


THE  PARABLE  OF  THE  TREE 
A  Tribute  to  Susan  B.  Anthony 

MY  daily  view,  in  years  gone  by,  was  o'er  a 
spreading  wood 
Where,  high  above  a  thousand  of  its  kind,  one 

great  oak  stood. 

Above  the  swaying  trees  in  lofty  loneliness  it  reigned, 
Untouched  of  axe,  unscathed  of  fire,  unhurt  of 

winds  that  strained. 
So  had  it  stood  the  wandering  red  man's  resting 

place  and  shade, 
The  guide  of  sturdy  pioneers,  ere,  yet,  the 

roads  were  made. 
Each  year  its  roots  took  firmer  hold  upon  the 

solid  earth 
And  higher  stretched  its  giant  arms  with  each 

new  summer's  birth, 

As  if  in  benediction  o'er  a  land  it  served  so  well 
That  all  the  country  side  was  poorer  when  the 

old  oak  fell. 

I  looked  on  fields  of  life's  endeavor,  as  on  that 

woodland  view; 
Amid  the  changing  crowd,  stood  one  whose  word  and 

deed  rang  true — 
One  lofty  soul  who  from  the  height  a  wondrous 

vision  caught 
And  swerved  not  from  it  'mid  the  clamor  of 

opposing  thought, 
Paused  not  for  praise  or  blame  but  bravely  wrought, 

through  scorn  and  strife, 
To  bring  the  rule  of  justice  into  human  law  and  life. 

62 


The  world  had  need  of  such  a  life,  lifted  on  high 

to  bless, 
Like  signal  set  for  sailor  men  amid  the  storm 

and  stress; 
And  when  its  light  went  out  and  men  the  far-borne 

message  read, 
I  sorrowed  not  that  blessed  rest  enwrapped  the 

honored  dead, 
But  that  the  sordid  times  should  lose  an  ideal, 

true  and  rare. 
'Twas  something  more  than  sorrow — this  was  loss 

beyond  repair. 
I  felt  the  world  was  poorer  for  the  standard — 

bearer  gone; 

Humanity  had  lost  a  priceless  jewel  from  its  crown; 
And  something  of  the  glory  faded  out  of  earth  for  me, 
As  beauty  fled  the  green  wood  when  I  missed  the 

grand  old  tree. 


63 


THOSE  TIRED  EYES 

HPHEY  hurt  me,  grieve  me  to  the  heart 

A       With  their  world-weary  smile — 
Those  eyes  from  which  the  buoyant  light 
Has  faded  while  I  watched  awhile. 

Why  should  men  live  to  crush  the  faith 
That  is  the  holy  right  of  youth, 

To  break  their  trust  in  God  and  man 
And   disappoint   their   hopes  of  truth? 

They   kill   the  spark  of   friendly   trust 
By  business  greed,  and  ruthless  lies, 

Leaving  to  pierce  the  hearts  that  love 
Faces,  yet  young,  with  tired  epes. 


64 


w 


LINES  TO  MY  MOTHER 
FROM  A  WORLD'S  EXPOSITION 

HAT  marvelous  things  the  world  has  done 

Since  first  I  saw  the  Sabbath  sun 
On  that,  to  me,   fateful  March  morn, 
Four  decades  since,  when  I  was  born! 
What  labors  vast,  achievements  grand, 
Men  of  my  day  have  wrought  and  planned! 
Set  here  in  panoramic  view, 
They  stir  my  heart  to  wonder  new. 
And  I  thank  God,  as  well  I  may, 
That  I  have  seen  this  glorious  day — 
Have  been  an  atom  in  the  throng 
That  pushed  the  mighty  work  along. 
Though  I  have  borne  but  meager  part, 
I've  welcomed  every  helpful  art 
And  kept  my  faith  in  coming  good 
When  Nature's  conquered  forces  should 
Rend  drudgery's  chain  and,  strong  and  swift, 
At  touch  of  genius,  rise  to  lift 
The  souls  of  men  above  the  sod 
To  bless  their  race  and  know  their  God. 
Joying  in  this  and  in  glad  thought, 
I,  too,  the  breath  of  Progress  caught, 
I  pray,  as  still  my  course  I  run, 
To  keep  in  sight  its  rising  sun. 


65 


THE  WHITE  LINE 

¥  STOOD  upon  the  steamer's  deck. 

1     Around  the  wide,  wide  waters  tossed. 

The  boat  seemed  but  a  tiny  speck, 

Amid  the  heaving  billows  lost. 
But,  ever,  as  the  tiny  shell 

Sped  on  before  the  wind, 
I  saw  that  on  the  darkness  fell 

A  straight  white  line,  behind. 

O,  such  a  speck  as  this  is  man, 

Tossed  by  each  wind  that  blows, 
I  thought;  so  short  his  span, 

I  can  but  pray  that  those 
Who  after  us  the  course  must  take 

Upon  life's  changeful  sea, 
As  they  sail  forward  in  our  wake 

That  straight  white  line  may  see. 


66 


IMAGINATION 

WHAT  art  thou,  wilful,  wandering  sprite, 
With  field  so  broad  and  wings  so  light? 
Thee  no  walls  of  stone  can  hold, 
No  robber  steal  thy  glistening  gold, 
No  darkness  dim  thy  vision  vast, 
No  chain  be  forged  to  hold  thee  fast! 

Thou  dost  walk  where  anguish  wails, 
Mid  scenes  at  which  the  midnight  pales, 
Weavest  thy  woof  'mid  angry  waves 
Or  silence  of  forgotten  caves. 
Of  what  strange  substance  art  thou  made — 
Joyless  'mid  joy,   in  terror  unafraid? 

From  starry  space  no  sound  is  heard, 
From  gleam  or  gloom  no  answering  word. 
Thy  phantom  craft  sails  past  the  stars, 
While  I,  in  wonder  press  my  bars. 
But,  see,  yonder  a  search-light  dips 
To  scan  the  sea  for  sailing  ships! 

It  is  thy  type,  O,  fleet  and  free, 
Searching  mysterious  voids  for  me, 
Turning  thy  light  on  deserts  drear, 
Making  slow  Reason's  path   more  clear. 
Bidding  the  skein  of  Fate  unwind — 
I  know  thee,  Search-light  of  the  mind! 


67 


THY  STILL,  DEEP  HEART  OF  REST 

Owide  blue  ocean,  in  thy  beauty  dressed, 
We  see  the  changing  colors  of  thy  pulsing  breast, 
Thy  furrowed  shores  by  tireless  arms  caressed, 
But  never  sound  thy  still,  deep  heart  of  rest! 

So,  striving  men,  like  thee,  misunderstood, 
Are  seen  storm-lashed  and  judged  by  surface  mood, 
While  they,  in  utter  peace,  beneath  the  flood 
Are  held  safe  anchored  in  Eternal  Good. 


68 


LITTLE  FAIRY 

T  UST  see  how  good  I  am,"  said  Betty 
I        Reprovingly  to  brother. 
And,   then,    "Little   Pharisee!" 

Smilingly  responded  Mother. 
But  Betty,  unreproved, 

Continued  with  great  glee: 
"Did  you  hear  what  Mother  said? 

I'm  a  little  fairy — see?'  ' 


VIOLETS 

A  TROOP  of  beauties  is  coming  this  way- 
Roses,  daisies  and  buttercups  gay ; 
And,  while  the  proud  ones  don  their  plumes, 
The  sweetest  of  all,  the  violet,  blooms, 
Peeps  upward  through  its  hood  of  blue 
And  shyly  bows  to  me  and  you. 


69 


THE  CRUCIFIED  YEARS 

THE  sceptre  of  work  we  threw,  scornfully,  down, 
Dreaming  not  that  it  meant  both  kingdom  and  crown. 
When  life's  sun  rose  high,  in  its  light,  we  saw 
The  road  to  a  throne,  and  lo,  work  was  its  law! 
Then  we  cried  to  the  Past,  O,  banish  our  age, 
Give  us  again  youth's  clean,  white  page! 
But  there  cometh  not,  for  our  cries  and  tears, 
Resurrection  day  of  the  crucified  years. 


70 


LOVE  AND  CARE 

LIKE  a  winged  dove, 
He  came  to  rest  beside  my  hearth, 
I  counted  not  the  waste  or  worth, 

"O  Love,  sweet  Love!" 
My  bosom  glowed  with  warm  content, 
With  balm  and  bloom  the  air  seemed  blent, 

"Welcome,   fair  guest!" 
I  cried,  and  knew  his  presence,  dear, 
Held  evermore  life's  hope  and  cheer, 

Its  warmth  and  rest. 

For  Love's  sweet  sake,  I  decked  my  rooms 
And  made  them  fair  with  lily  blooms 

That  he  might  share. 
But,  ere  his  wings  found  rest  from  flight, 
A  shadow  grey  crept  in  from  night. 

"O,  cruel  Care! 

Thou  grizzled  and  unwelcome  shade, 
Within  this  Eden  Love  has  made, 

Why  must  thou  fare?" 
I  heard  an  answering  whisper,  low; 
"Be  still,  O  heart,  Love  must  not  know, 

For  Love  hath  wings. 
And  he  shall  mourn,  or  soon  or  late, 
Who   fretteth   at  the  shadow  mate 

Love   ever   brings." 
Silent,  I  bowed,  for  then  I  knew 
The   treasure   and   the   trouble,   due, 

May  not  divide. 

Since  I  from  Love  no  more  can  part, 
Henceforth  within  my  house  and  heart 

Guests  twain  abide. 


71 


MY  DREAM 

I  DREAMED,  last  night,  of  a  strange  wild  ride. 
Ten  strong,  trusty  men  were  riding  beside. 
There  was  danger  ahead,  but  no  one  gave  heed 
Nor  slackened  the  pace  of  his  bounding  steed; 
For  we  rode  to  a  rescue  with  courage  high — 
We  rode  to  a  rescue  to  win  or  die. 
We  rode  without  pause,  straight  into  the  fray, 
Put  captors  to  flight  and  brought,  proudly,  away 
The  child  we  had  plucked  from  death  or  thrall 
By  speed,  by  strength  and  by  daring  all. 

Deep  was  my  joy  and  exultingly,  then, 

I  spoke  for  myself  and  my  dauntless  ten : 

"To  us,  for  this  deed,  let  none  dare  to  raise 

Voice  of  thanks,  or  a  word  of  praise! 

We  have  our  reward — it  is  fullest  meed 

Once  to  risk  all  in  a  glorious  deed — 

To  put  speed,  courage  and  strength  all  in 

To  fly  to  the  battle  and  rvin — ah,  to  n>in/" 

Even  as  I  uttered  the  joy  of  my  heart, 

Rose  one  sneering  face  from  the  crowd,  apart, 

Whose  scoffing  look  quenched  my  heart's  high  flame, 

Charged  me  with  pride,  and  I  waked — to  shame. 

Then  thrilling  still  with  the  glorious  dream 

I  questioned  how  it  shall  sometime  seem, 

When  self  shall  be  vanquished,  when  failure  is  o'er, 

When  faith  is  triumphant  forevermore, 

When  victory's  thrill,  when  the  glow  of  delight, 

The  joy  of  the  battle  for  God  and  the  right, 

Shall  quench  every  sneer  and  shall  silence  pride, 

Will  we  wish  any  palm  or  crown  beside? 


72 


A  NEW  YEAR 

ANOTHER  year!     All  masked  it  comes  to  me- 
A  soulless  segment  of  eternity. 
I  cannot  penetrate  its  guise  or  mood, 
Although  so  many  of  its  flying  brood, 
Unchecked,  since  time  and  I  bore  company, 
Have  wrought  their  will  upon  the  world  and  me, 
Have  linked,  each  unto  each,  a  lengthening  chain 
And  borne  me  blindly  on  through  fret  and  strain. 

Good  year,  since  thou  and  I  must  share  the  race, 

Why  shouldst  thou  still  conceal  from  me  thy  face? 

I  may  not  count  thee  friend,  nor,  yet,  a  foe, 

For  now  a  benediction,  now  a  blow 

Thou'lt  deal;  but  bring  thou  safety  or  a  snare, 

Together  thou  and  I  must  fare. 

I  greet  thee  with  no  question,  no  delay; 

Thou  hast  exclusive  franchise  o'er  my  way, 

And  I  have  none  but  to  obey  thy  laws 
And  ride  thy  chariots  to  the  final  pause. 
I  know  not  if  another  of  thy  race 
Shall  meet  me  with  its  veiled  face 
When  thou  shalt  pass,  nor  am  I  sure  of  thee, 
Since  backward  view  alone  is  granted  me. 
I  cannot  choose  but  trust  thee  without  sign, 
O  year,  New  Year,  do  good  to  me  and  mine! 


73 


FISHERMEN 

OLET  us  go  a-fishing! 
We'll  seek  the  shading  vines 
And  watch  the  circles  widen 
Around  the  quivering  lines. 

O,  let  us  go  a-fishing 

In  wisdom's  soundless  sea 

And  win  with  joy  the  riches 
It  holds  for  you  and  me ! 

O,  let  us  go  a-fishing 

Out  in  the  world  of  men 

And  hook  to  ours,  securely, 
A  true  heart,  now  and  then. 


74 


THE  MEANING  OF  CHRISTMAS 

WHAT  is  the  meaning  of  Christmas  Day — 
The  truth  underlying  the  gifts  we  pay? 

Love — just  love. 

Love  is  the  word  of  the  holy  birth — 
The  message  it  brings  to  a  selfish  earth, 
Love — just  love. 

Worthless   the   gift   of   a   heart   that   is   cold — 
Worthless  though   fashioned  of  finest   gold. 

Love — just  love 

Ruleth  the  Christmas  in  spirit  and  form, 
Keepeth  the  heart  like  the  hearth-fire  warm — 

Love — just  love. 

Love  is  the  truth  to  the  world  made  known 
When  angels  sang  and  the  glory  shone — 

Love — just  love. 

Soul  of  all  sweetness  and  help — the  flame 
Kindled  to  banish  earth's  sin  and  shame — 

Love — just  love. 

Cover  it  not  with  pretense  or  show. 

Christmas  should  be  in  the  heart.      Its  glow — 

Love — just  love. 

Bethlehem's  cradle  beams  with  its  light, 
Calvary's   cross  proclaims   its   might — 

Love — just  love. 


75 


CANST  THOU  BY  SEARCHING  FIND 

OUT  GOD? 

(Job) 

BID  me  not  fathom  depths  of  science,  cold, 
Or  seek  trustworthy  foothold  for  my  faith 
In  its  abstractions,  baseless,  without  God. 
I  journey  in  a  dark  and  slippery  way 
And  needs  must  find  a  sure  hand-clasp, 

a  Love,  divine,  or  I  am  lost. 
Science  is  naught  if  it  speak  not  God's  voice — 
Its  ponderous  words  of  wisdom,  meaningless 
As  brookside  babblings  or  as  beat  of  drums. 
Religion,  too,  is  worthless  if  it  breathe 
Not  love  of  God  a  child  may  understand. 
I  hold  this  truth  supremely  blest  and  true: 
The  way  to  God  is  straight  and  plain — the  truth, 
Christ  taught,  so  simple  that  a  child's  heart  holds 
Its  key.  "Of  such  my  Kingdom,"  says  His  word. 
They  who  would  be  wise  beyond  that  word, 
Who  seek  in  wizard  chamber,  ancient  myths, 
In  stars  and  rocks  or  oriental  lore 
To  find  the  truth  to  which  the  heart  may  hold, 
Are  wandering  from  its  light  in  places  dark. 
The  wisdom  of  this  world  is  foolishness 
With  God;  and  when  the  Master  walked  below, 
He  set  a  little  child  before  the  throng — 
Before  the  self-sufficient,  wise  and  strong — 
And  bade  them  come,  as  little  children  do, 
To  Him  in  love  and  faith  unquestioning. 
We  are  not  bid  to  understand,  but  trust. 
Trust,  not  wisdom,  soothes  the  soul's  alarms 
And  like  the  lost  sheep  on  the  mountains  cold, 
Our  only  safety  is  the  Shepherd's  arms. 


76 


AN  ANNIVERSARY  OF  SORROW 

BELOVED,   as  the   shadows   droop,   my   thoughts 
are  far  away 

Within  that  city  of  the  dead,  among  the  marbles  grey, 
Where  thou  dost,   still  and  silent,   sleep  while  I, 

with  aching  heart, 
Strive,  in  life's  noonday  glare  and  heat,  to  bear  and 

do  my  part. 
I  would  not  break  that  blessed  sleep  by  sigh  or 

moan  of  mine; 
God  gave  thee  rest,   and,   yet,   to-night  my  heart 

cries  out  to  thine. 
Knowest  thou  not  I  have  locked  up  my  sorrow, 

pain  and  tears, 
And  wrought  with  cheerful,   patient  love,   through 

all  these  lonely  years? 
The  years,  complete  this  Sabbath  night,  have  brought 

full  meed  of  care, 
Of  separation,  loss,  and  tears  in  which  thou  hadst 

no  share. 
The  earth  hath  welcomed  to  her  breast  those  who  thy 

youth  had  nursed; 
And  I  have  said  the  last  goodbye  to  those  who  loved 

me  first. 
The  grave  hath  claimed  dear  ones.     Others  have  gone 

at  Love's  behest; 
For  cherished  firstlings  of  our  brood  have  left  the 

parent  nest. 
Wee  babes  in  new  homes  own,  to-night,  thy  lineage 

and  thy  name. 
But  wherefore  call   to  thee?      Would   I   disturb   thy 

peaceful  frame? 

77 


Ah,  no!  nor  stir  thee  with  earth's  chance  and  change, 

its  loss  and  gain, 
Its  watchings  by  the  sick  one's  couch,  its  frequent 

touch  of  pain. 
Content,   I  kneel  and  pray,   "God  bless  and  for  our 

loved  ones  care." 
And  feel  He  hears  us  join  in  this,  thy  constant, 

latest  prayer, 
And  dare  not  doubt  that  round  about  our  children — 

thine  and  mine — 

In  storm  or  calm,  the  guardian  angels'  garments  shine. 
And  if  an   angel  guard  be  set,   shouldst  thou  not 

guard  thine  own? 
O,  heart  of  mine,  be  still?     Soon  shall  we  know  as 

we  are  known. 
Enough  if,  when  with  welcoming  sweep  shall  ope  the 

pearly  gate, 
Together  we  may  wake  from  sleep.      For  this,   dear 

heart,  I  wait,  I  wait. 


78 


THE  EMPTY  CHAIR 

ABROAD  green  lawn  that  meets  the  road 
A  spacious  house  in  country  mode, 
A  honeysuckle  climbing  o'er 
The  pleasant  porch  with  broad  stone   floor. 

Beneath  the  shade,   inviting  there, 
Stands  an  empty,  wide-armed  chair. 
But,  he  who  filled  that  chair  of  yore, 
Salutes  the  coming  friend  no  more. 

The  slanting  shadows  part  and  blend, 
The  orchards  with  their  fruitage  bend; 
Still  wave  the  tassels  on  the  corn, 
The  quail  still  calls  his  mate  at  morn ; 

But  he  who  loved  each  field  and  hill 
Comes  no  more  the  chair  to  fill, 
Which    love   within    that   place   keeps   set — 
Token  that  love  cannot  forget. 

'Tis  not  revealed,  we  may  not  know 
If  angels  love  like  those  below, 
If  eyes,  that  Eden's  glories  greet, 
Look  down  to  view  that  waiting  seat. 

And,  yet,  mayhap,   'mid  Heaven's  love, 
Our  sweet  earth-ties  the  heart  may  move, 
Our  loved,  beyond  the  golden  stair, 
Have  set  for  us  a  waiting  chair. 


79 


NIGHT  AND  SORROW 

SOB  softly,  O  winds,  o'er  that  grave  afar, 
Shine  mistily  on  it,  O  moon  and  star, 
Let  tears,  as  they  fall  from  night  clouds  o'erhead, 
Join  mine  as  I  mourn,  mourn,  mourn  for  my  dead! 

The  brightness  of  morn  will  soon  gild  yon  dome, 
The  light  songs  of  birds  float  into  my  room; 
Then   haste,   moon   and   star   and  night-cloud   acrost, 
To  join  while  I  mourn,  mourn,  mourn   for  my  lost! 

I  will  work  with  good  cheer,  live,  love  while  'tis  day, 
My  grief  shall  be  dumb,  my  tears  put  away; 
But  wrapped  in  night's  mantle,  sad,  silent  and  lone, 
Un forbid  I  may  mourn,  mourn,  mourn  for  my  own! 

Night   followeth  day;   Death  vanquishes  Life; 
Grief  chasteneth  Joy;  this,   this  is  earth's  strife. 
When  God's  day  shall  dawn,  when  earth's  night  is  o'er, 
Rejoice,  I  shall  mourn,  mourn,  mourn  nevermore! 


80 


THE  BROKEN  SET 

1  OWNED  a  set  of  daintiest  ware 
With  decorations  fit. 
In  quality  'twas  fine  and  rare — 

Each   piece   most  exquisite; 
And  in  a  fit  receptacle 

Of  carven  oaken  wood, 
Upon  whose  brightly  polished  shelves 

In  tasteful  rows  they  stood, 
I  kept  them  dainty,   fair  and  neat, 

With  neither   cracks  nor  nicks. 
To  spread  my  board  they  were  complete 

A  perfect  set  of  six. 

But,  one  sad  day,  a  heedless  thing 

Caused  one  to  slip.     It  fell. 
I  heard  the  broken   fragments  ring — 

Ah,  me,  a  knell,  a  knell! 
A  little  thing — not  very  sad — 

To  break  a  perfect  set? 
Others  as  fine  are  to  be  had? 

'Tis  true,  and  yet,  and  yet, 
For  tears  I  scarce  my  table  see — 

Heart-breaking  at  the  view, 
For  where  the  broken  bowl  should  be 

The  chair  is  empty,  too! 


81 


OUR  CHILD 

HE  came  to  our  home  like  a  soft,  white  dove 
And  we  learned  in  his  eyes  the  lore  of  love. 

O,  deep  was  our  joy! 

For  us,   every  morning,   there  blossomed  new   grace; 
Every  day  in  our  hearts  made  a  tenderer  place 

For  the  sweet,  winsome  boy. 
He  smiled,  and  our  love  drew  us  closer  to  him 
Till  the  cup  of  our  joy  uprose  to  the  brim — 

Such  a  treasure  was  ours! 
He  grew,  and  we  loved  each  dimple  and  line 
That  twined  round  our  hearts   like  a  beautiful   vine 

Decked  fair  with  flowers. 

He  walked,  loosened  the  clasp  of  our  hands  one  day, 
While  we  smiled  nor  dreamed  he  would  further  stray, 

So  short  was  our  sight! 
He  spoke,  and  O,  unto  us  be  it  given 
Those  accents  to  hear  in  the  music  of  Heaven, 

For  hushed  is  our  night! 

He  left  us — a  dew-drop  exhaled  ere  the  noon, 
A  bud  which  the  Gardener  took  full  soon 

To  the  gardens  above. 

And  so  barren  is  earth  we'd  give  all  its  vain  charms 
To  feel  his  dear  head  on  our  empty  arms, 

O,  child  of  our  love! 

Earth  cannot  hold  thee  though  May-day's  bright 
Besprinkle  thine  earth-crib  blossom  white. 

Too  cold  is  its  breast. 

Thou  livest,  hast  heard  a  sweet  Voice  calling  "Come!" 
And  art  gone,  like  a  lamb,  with  the  Shepherd  home 

In  his  bosom  to  rest. 


82 


LINKS  IN  LIFE'S  CHAIN 
(READ  AT  A  FAMILY  MEETING) 

'  I  O-DAY,  through  memory's  glass  the  chain  appears 

•I      Whose  varied  links  bind  this  to  bygone  years. 
Thought  flies  back,  on  wings  most  sure  and  fleet, 
Until  it  finds  footprints  of  baby  feet. 
Frail  threads,  as  unsubstantial  as  a  dream, 
Like  cobwebs  gemmed   with   morning  dew,   we   seem 
To  trace,  now  by  life's  fears  and  then  by  its  charms, 
Away  back  to  the  cradle  of  mother's  arms. 
Her  clasp  first  linked  us  to  the  great  unknown 
And  gently  led  us  from  the  shoreless  zone 
Whence  all  life  comes.      Full  many  a  link, 
Since  then,  has  come  to  bind  us  to  the  world  of  men. 
Most  fitting,  though,  it  seems  to  us  to-day, 
That  first  we  pause,  tribute  to  her  to  pay, 
Whose  eyes  were  childhood's  guiding  stars,  whose  arms 
Our  first  unfailing  shelter  from  life's  harms. 
I  know  the  wiser  Mind,  the  truer  Love, 
And,  yet,  so  blind  am  I  to  things  above, 
'Tis  my  heart's  hope — and  higher  faith  seems  hid — 
That  God  will  love  me  as  my  mother  did. 
Fond  memory  leaps  across  the  changeful  way 
We  came,  as  we,  when  children,  crossed  in  play 
The  rippling  brook,  stepping  from  stone  to  stone, 
Until  it  brings  to  mind  our  father's  tone, — 
That  voice  with  fine  enthusiasm  filled, 
Whose  speech  has  oft  our  youthful  spirits  thrilled, 
So  resonant  of  hopes  that  filled  the  time 
Of  our  first  youth — his  brave  young  manhood's  prime. 
Enthusiasm  fires  our  spirits,   staid, 
Once  more,  as  watered  pastures,  woodland  shade, 

83 


Railroads,  towns,  rise  up  at  his  behest 

In  childhood's  Eldorado — the  land  "out  West." 

Some  would  have  clung  to  the  old  home,  not  I; 

I  would  follow  the  shine  in  father's  eye, 

And  rejoice  with  him  in  each  rolling  field, 

In  the  orchard's  growth  and  the  timothy's  yield, 

In  all  the  good  and  gain  each  season  brought. 

In  those  young  days  I  never  thought, 
As  he  told  us  of  wealth  in  field  and  wood 
That  his  buoyant  soul  was  our  chiefest  good. 
Ducklings  will  swim  and  birdlmgs  leave  the  nest, 
And  our  parents'  flock  was  like  the  rest. 
Full  soon  the  home  they  dared  to  make 
And  kept  so  sweet  and  sacred  for  our  sake, 
Seemed  to  us  but  the  branch  where,  poised  elate, 
Each  waited  the  call  of  a  life-long  mate. 
No  link  was  sundered  when  the  flight  was  made. 
Mother,  father,  sister,  brother  bade 
"God  speed!"   and  so  the  links  of  love  held  strong, 
Although  the  parted  years  stretched  full  and  long. 

How  shall  we  link  the  years  that  went  and  came, 
The  years  that  were,  and  yet  were  not  the  same? 
Each  year,  a  few  gray  hairs,  a  shade  of  age 
To  mark  the  growing  numbers  of  life's  page, 
Until  the  angel,   dread,   the  pencil  took, 
Wrote  finis  on  the  page  and  closed  the  book. 
Births,  deaths,  there  were,  with  sorrow, 

pain  and  change, 
And  only  love  grew  never  old  or  strange. 

When,  with  death's  white  peace  upon  each  brow, 
Our  parents  slept,  we  knew,  as  we  know  now, 
Love  is  the  final  link  upon  life's  chain 
That,  yet,  shall  bind  us  to  our  own  again. 


84 


THE  GIFT  WAS  TOO  FAIR 

WE  had  folded  the  bud  in  love's  warm  embrace 
And  fondly  were  watching  its  unfolding  grace, 
But  the  opening  bud  showed  a  soul  so  rare 
That  the  Good  Giver  saw  His  gift  was  too  fair; 
So  He  sent  down  the  angels  to  pluck  it,   one  even, 
That  the  beautiful  bloom  might  be  perfect  in  Heaven. 


85 


A  WELCOME 

WELCOME  to  thy  lot  and  place 
Latest  scion  of  thy  race! 
Worthy  bear  thy  fitting  name, 
Cherish,    faithfully,   its   fame — 
Heritage  of  centuries  three 
Rests  its  honor,  now,  with  thee! 
Make  thy  life  a  marvelous  dower 
Filled  with  growth  and  grace  and  power, 
Throughout  all  its  granted  span 
Serve  and  bless  thy  fellow  man! 


86 


BABY'S  BOOK 

JUST  a  place  and  a  date 
With  a  name  and  a  weight — 
But  it  opens  a  record  of  weal  or  of  woe, 
A  record,  unguessed,  and  that  none  may  know. 
How  far,  little  feet? 
Will't  be  slow  or  fleet? 
Will  the  road  lie  fair  or  must  it  cross 

Deserts  of  trial  and  chasms  of  loss? 

Not  an  answer  slips 

From  the  rose-bud  lips. 

Perhaps  it  is  hope  that  smiles  from  them  now. 
Mayhap,   courage  is  writ  on  the  fair  white  brow. 

Sure,  a  great  wonder  lies 

In  the  fathomless  eyes 

Now  gazing  about  them,  below  and  above, 
As  they  read  the  old  story  of  life  and  of  love. 

'Tis  enough,  for  the  while, 

To  sleep,  grow  and  smile 

And  cry  out   at  the   things   that  hurt   and   annoy. 
Will  life,  at  its  best,  give  better  employ? 

Nay,  reach  with  thy  will 

For  all  good  that  can  fill 

Thy  need.     Scorn  the  husk  or  the  chaff.     Doing  so 
Into  blessing  and  power  shall  thy  spirit  grow. 


87 


TO  A  YOUNG  MAN   ON   HIS  TWENTY- 
FIRST  BIRTHDAY 

1SAW  a  slim,  young  moon  three  nights  ago ; 
It  hung  in  its  young  glory,  shy  and  low — 
A  segment  of  a  circle  soon  to  shed 
Its   full-orbed  splendor  overhead. 
A  picture  of  young  life  it  seemed  to  me, 
A  shining  promise  of  the  life  to  be. 

I  saw,  a  little  longer  time  ago, 

A  slim,  brown  sapling  just  begin  to  grow — 

Saw  twig  and  branch,  unfolding  leaf  and  flower 

Reach  far  and  farther,  growing,  hour  by  hour, 

Until,   upon  its  branches,  widely  flung, 

In  grateful  shade,  the  joyous  children  swung. 

Some  months  ago  (if  reckoned  by  the  sun, 

I  know  'twas  twenty  years — and  one, 

But  still,  to  me,  'twas  but  the  other  day), 

A  human  hopeful  in  his  cradle  lay. 

He   thrust  his   plump,   pink   fists   up   toward   the   sky 

And  sang  his  infant  solo,  clear  and  high. 

Then,  while  I  watched  and  wondered,  just  a  span, 

Grew  up  and  makes  his  bow  to  us,  a  man — 

A  man,   'tis  true,   but  on   life's  threshold  still. 

It  is  for  him  to  give  back,  if  he  will, 

Even  like  the  moon,  which  while  the  world  has  rolled, 

Gives  ever  back — returns   its  borrowed  gold, 

And  like  the  tree  whose  leaf  and  fruit  and  shade 

Give  back  to  mother  earth  what  earth  has  made. 

I  would,  to-day,  with  earnestness  and  stress 

The  law  that  rules  in  nature's  work  impress: 

88 


The  moon  turns  ever  to  the  sun  full-face; 

The  tree  gains   from  the  sun   its  strength   and   grace; 

And  growing  men  must  fling  the  soul-gates  wide, 

That  God's  own  light  their  lives  may  guide 

To   larger   things — strength,    helpfulness    and    power, 

Day  by  day,  to  life's  meridian  hour. 


GROWING  YOUNG  IN  CALIFORNIA 

WHEN  one  counts  his  years  by  decades, 
Has  seen  full  many  come  and  go, 
Counted  by  the  falling  leaves 

And  counted  by  the  winter's  snow, 
When  one  has  marked  their  speedy  passing 

By  springtime's  bloom  and  summer's  gold. 
Until  the  truth  is  deeply  graven 

That  with  them  he  is  growing  old, 
There  is  waked   impulse,   resistant 

Of  the  swift  seasons'  stern  decree, 
That  bids  him  come   to  watch   them   blend 

Uncounted  by  the  western  sea. 
Spring  and  winter  twin-born  pass 

While    roses   bloom    and    robins    sing. 
Seasons  yield  their  fruits  and  flowers, 

Forgetting  time  is  on  the  wing. 
Waking  newly   the  child-heart 

By  ceaseless  bloom,  by  wild  bird's  song, 
And  nature's  changes,  truly  teaching 

That  life  is  new,  souls  ever  young. 


90 


MY  BOY 

GET  the   good  of  each   passing  year, 
For  each  is  bringing  manhood  near. 
To  that  coming  man  be  true,  be  true, 
His  fate,  my  boy,  lies  all  with  you. 


LETTER  TO  A  FAMILY  REUNION 

/GREETINGS,   dear  ones: 

^-*          And  may  you  have  a  day  of  joy 

Upon  the  oak-crowned  hill  beside  the  Illinois — 

A  day  that  memory  shall  still  hold  sweet 

In  years  when  even  the  children's  dancing  feet, 

Now  so  alert  with  energy  and  hope, 

With  heedful  step  shall  tread  life's  sundown  slope, 

A  day  in  which  the  cloud  of  care  uplifts 

And  shows  the  sun  clear  shining  through  the  rifts. 

I  send  my  word  to  you  o'er  many  a  mile, 
And  yet,  in  fancy,  I  can  see  the  smile 
On  faces  loved,  can  see  the  mists  in  eyes 
That  dim  when  ever  present  memories  rise 
Of  absent  ones — absent  forevermore. 
Grieve  not.     Be  glad,  as  in  the  days  of  yore. 
Be  glad  for  many  blessed  years  through  which 
Their  lives,  their  love,  their  labors,  made  us  rich. 

'Tis  not  to  celebrate  the  family's  fame 
Or  waken  pride  in  our  forefathers'  name 
We  meet,  but  to  recall  their  sterling  worth, 
Their  service  to  the  land  that  gave  them  birth, 
The  heritage  they  left  of  honor,  truth, 
And  godly  living.     Let  the  heart  of  youth 
Own,  gratefully,  to  this,  most  sacred  debt: 
To  make  life  measure  to  the  standard  set. 


92 


A  GOLDEN  WEDDING 

IN  every  time  and  every  clime,  tho'  late  or  olden, 
Love  is  the  same  immortal  spark,  'tis  ever  golden. 
Its  early  vows  are  beautiful  as  budding  roses, 
Or  as  the  first  faint  flush  the  waking  morn  discloses. 
So  deep  in  us  the  love  of  love's  new  birth  is  bedded, 
That  joy  doth  greet  each  morning  sweet  that  joins  the 

newly  wedded. 

Yet  youthful  love,  even  proved  by  surest  test  and  token, 
Is  but  good  ore  from  rocky  mines  new  broken; 
It  needs  must  meet  the  furnace  heat,  know  friction's  losses, 
The  grind  of  daily  care,  the  trials  and  the  crosses. 
It  must  endure  the  fullest  meed  of  time's  long  testing 
Beneath  the  Great  Refiner's  hand,  unresting, 
Before  it  is  forged  and  fitted  for  the  last  imprinting 
And  stamped  pure  coinage  of  the  Master's  minting. 
But  when  the  years  have  wrought  their  work,  by 

custom  olden, 

We  celebrate  a  festal  day — a  wedding  golden. 
Joy  to  the  day — joy  to  repay  all  past  regretting! 
Brighter  be  love's  golden  glow  unto  its  diamond  setting! 


93 


THE  DEBT  ANCESTRAL 

IF  to  the  men  and  women  of  our  line, 
Ancestral,  we  may  trace  aught  that  is  fine, 
High-souled,   courageous,  virtuous,   true, 
It  points  to  duty,  makes  it  doubly  due 
That  we,  too,  light  the  torch  of  faith  sincere, 
And  bear  it  high  to  give  the  dark  world  cheer. 
And  lest  we  fail  by  selfish  word  or  deed, 
Unworthy,  stamp  upon  each  heart  the  creed 
Which  they,  by  lives  of  faithful  service  taught: 
"My  rule:  not  what  I  please  but  what  I  ought." 


94 


LOVING  SERVICE 

WE   may   not  serve,    as   Martha   did, 
The  Master  while  He  sits  at  meat; 
Nor  yet,  the  precious  ointment  pour, 
Like  Mary,  on  His  weary  feet. 
But  He,  unchanged,  sees  from  above 
The  smallest  service  done  in  love.         * 

One  gave  her  service,  thus  would  we 
Serve  Him  through  service  to  His  own ; 
But  may  a  love  like  Mary's  be 
Sole  prompter  of  the  duty  done, 
That  ours  may  be,  though  large  or  small, 
Love's  offering — its  best,  its  all. 

One  broke  the  alabaster  box, 
Poured  out  her  offering  costly,  meet; 
So  let  our  broken  hearts  aspire 
To  consecration,   full,  complete. 
How  blest  to  hear  Him,  if  we  should 
Pronounce  our  work,  like  Mary's,  good! 


A  HYMN 
"SERVE  THE  LORD  WITH  GLADNESS" 

THERE  is  joy  in  the  service  if  Jesus  be  near, 
There  is  sweetness  and  rest  'mid  encompassing  fear. 
Though  the  sun  may  be  hid  in  the  cloud-darkened  skies, 
In  the  joy  of  the  morning  its  glories  shall  rise. 

REFRAIN  : 

Jesus  is  near  us.     He  lifteth  our  load. 
Jesus  once  lived,  and  He  knoweth  our  road. 
Knoweth  our  burdens,  our  weakness,  our  woes — 
Let  us  be  glad  that  the  dear  Lord  knows. 

O,   rejoice  all  ye  weavers  who  toil  at  the  loom, 
Sing  for  joy,  all  ye  workers  who  delve  in  the  gloom, 
For  each  stroke  of  your  arm  and  each  furrow  and  seed 
Through  God's  blessing  may  comfort  some  brother  in  need. 

If  the  field  of  your  work  shall  be  stony  and  poor, 
If  a  lot  like  the  Master's  be  yours  to  endure, 
O,  exult  in  the   fellowship  sweet,   for  we  know 
There's  a  crown,  higher  up,  for  the  faithful  below. 


96 


THE  COVENANT  OF  PEACE 

The  mountains  shall  depart  and  the  hills  be  removed;  but 
my  kindness  shall  not  depart  from  thee,  neither  shall  the 
covenant  of  my  peace  be  removed. — Isaiah  54.10. 

BE  thou  at  rest,  my  heart,  to-day, 
To  watch  the  gathering  storm-clouds  play 
Upon  the  tall  Sierras, 

Whose  mute  and  changeless  peace  remains 
Through  light  and  shade,  through  night  and  rains 
To   chide  our   transient  worries. 

What  matter  that  the  storm-king  rides 
His  chariots  down  their  channeled  sides 

Or  makes  his  playground  there? 
Like  stir  of  growth  or  waking  zest 
Of  lusty  child  on  parent's  breast, 

It  makes  their  joy  profounder. 

Learn  thou  to  stand  serene,  upborne, 
Centered  in  peace,  though  surface-torn, 

Steadfast  when  storm  obscureth. 
For  even  though  mount  and  hill  depart, 
God's  kindness  will  not  leave  thy  heart, 

His  covenant  endureth. 


97 


THE  MOTHER'S  VOICE 

OVER  the  wind-swept  prairie's  breast 
A  Voice  is  heard  from  out  the  West. 
It  calls  through  rugged  eastern  hills, 
Through  sunny,  southern  vales  it  thrills. 
'Tis  not  the  cry  of  hunter  bold, 
Nor  sound  of  pick  in  mines  of  gold, 
Nor  plowman's  song  whose  furrow  rows 
Make  deserts  "blossom  like  the  rose." 
'Tis  not  the  locomotive's  scream, 
Whose  eye  of  fire  and  breath  of  steam 
Go  rushing  down  the  river-side 
Past  huts  of  sod  and  homes  of  pride; 
Past  cities  sprung  like  Jonah's  gourd 
From  plains  by  nature's  riches  stored. 
'Tis  not  the  whirr  of  factory  wheel, 
Hammer  or  saw  or  clang  of  steel. 
Such  music  clangors  far  and  near, 
But  gentler  undertones  appear — 
They  voice  the  plea  of  mother-hearts, 
Like  this:     "O,  men,  are  not  the  arts 
All  secondary,  for  the  sake 
Of  sacred  homes  that  mothers  make? 
The  furrow  is  turned,  the  wheels  go  round 
While  axes,  saws  and  hammers  sound 
Only  to  build  that  sheltering  nest 
That  men  call  home  and  make  it  blest. 
Roads  are  laid  for  human  feet, 
Grain  is  grown  that  men  may  eat. 
All  art  should  serve  some  human  need, 
Some  want  of  soul  or  sense  should  feed. 
Why,  then,  O,  ye  who  rule  the  state, 
Permit  a  traffic  born  of  hate 

98 


1  o  deal  out  poison  to  our  sons? 

Danger,  as  dire  as  swords  or  guns 

In  foeman's  hands,  confronts  our  flock, 

Hence,  at  the  door  of  power  we  knock 

And  ask  you,  men  and  voters,  for 

Your  help  in  this  the  mightiest  war 

Of  modern  times.     O,  not  alone 

Build  railroads  that  shall  belt  the  zone! 

Build  up  a  legal  wall  to  keep 

Your  children  from  the  foes  that  sweep 

Thousands,   yearly,   to  the  tomb — 

Thousands  to  a  drunkard's  doom. 

Take  from  our  streets  the  legal  snare, 

Rise  in  your  might  and  nobly  swear, 

By  all  the  power  God  gives  to  thee, 

Our  country  may  and  shall  be  free 

From  licensed  crime.     A  waiting  land 

Watches  to  see  you  take  that  stand. 

Children  lift  their  pleading  eyes, 

Mothers  look  through  tears  and  sighs, 

And  fathers,  too,  grief-stricken,  moan, 

'O  Absalom,  my  son,  my  son!' 

All  plead  with  you  in  honor's  name 

To  stop  rum's  devastating  flame, 

Fire  guards  to  set,  as  pioneers 

Set  them,  and  sleep  devoid  of  fears. 

A   fire   is  threatening  to   sweep 

O'er  homes  where  helpless  children  sleep. 

O,  make  this  guard  so  safe  and  sure 

That  they  may  slumber  on  secure — 

A  legal  guard  to  shield  and  sever 

Our  country's  homes  from  rum,  forever." 


99 


CHRISTIAN  ENDEAVOR  MARCHING  SONG 

(Suggested  by  the  EnJeavorers,  assembling  on  Lookout  Mountain,  Georgia,  where  they 
sang  a  hymn.) 

/COURAGE,  Christians,  we  are  coming! 
^-'    We  are  coming  millions  strong  - 
Coming  in  our  youth  and  vigor, 
Hear  you  not  our  battle  song? 
"Christ  for  men  and  men  for  Christ! 
Forward,  storm  the  forts  of  wrong!" 

Cry  of  man  for  brotherhood 
Taught  and  promised  in  the  Word, 
Fire  and  fervor  of  His  plea 
All  the  ages  long  have  stirred. 
Usher  in  its  glorious  day — 
Day  of  which  the  prophets  heard! 

Cease  the  old  sad  cry  of  fathers: 
"Absalom,  my  son,  my  son!" 
Wipe  the  falling  tears  of  mothers — 
This  the  message  of  His  Son. 
Christ  for  men  and  men  for  Christ! 
Forward  till  the  world  is  won! 

We   will   lift   our   brother,    fallen, 
Help  our  sisters  to  the  light  — 
One  in  sorrow  and  in  sinning, 
Equal  each  in  Heaven's  sight. 
Christ  for  us  and  we  for  Christ! 
Forward,  march  we  for  the  right! 

Dwelleth  love  in  him  who  heeds  not 
When  he  seeth  his  brother's  need? 
Nay,  who  lives  a  life  of  loving 

100 


Pours  it  forth  in  kindly  deed'.  * 
Thus  the  Master  lived  and  taught. 
Onward,  to  fulfill  His  creed! 

Cease   forever  wars  of  gaining! 
Long  their  wrath  hath  been  outpoured. 
Ours  to  fight  a  nobler  battle 
Armed  with  but  the  Spirit's  sword. 
Christ  for  us  and  we  for  Christ! 
Forward,  army  of  the  Lord! 

We  are  coming  to  the  rescue. 
We  are  coming  millions  strong, 
With  our  faith  and  high  endeavor. 
Will  you  join  our  battle  song? 
Christ  for  men  and  men  for  Christ! 
Forward,  storm  the  forts  of  wrong! 


101 


RIGHT  WINS 

WHO  wins  on  battle  fields  of  life? 
Who  wears  the  wreath  from  fields  of  strife? 
Whose  courage  fails  not,  storm  or  calm? 
Who  never  fails  to  bear  the  palm? 
Who  brings  bright  honor  from  the  field 
As  Spartan  youths  brought  back  the  shield? 
'Tis  he  who  aims  a  steady  dart, 
Who  keeps  a  firm,  unyielding  heart — 
He  wins. 

Who  fails  when  nations  come  to  test 
To  stand  among  the  truest,  best? 
Who,  selfish,  shuns  the  storm  of  wrath, 
Who  stands,  a  block  in  progress'  path? 
Count  the  dauntless.     On  your  list 
Of  friends  or  foes  these  names  are  missed — 
Half-hearted  men  whom  all  deride, 
Claiming  and  claimed  for  neither  side — 

These  fail. 

• 

By  whole-souled  men  the  work  is  won, 
Whose  hands  and  hearts  impel  it  on, 
Whose  minds  of  depth  and  wills  of  might 
Deem  every  question  wrong  or  right. 
They  never  one  atom  of  principle  yield 
While  Right  has  foes  or  Wrong  a  shield. 
For  them  the  golden  moments  wait — 
'Tis  these  who  pluck  bright  fame  from  fate. 
These  win. 

102 


He  wins  who  gives  the  work  his  heart, 
He  fails  who  acts  the  half-way  part. 
Be  true,  be  manly,  choose  your  side — 
Choose  and  fling  your  colors  wide! 
The  world  needs  men  of  might  and  will — 
Needs  courage  and  conviction  still. 
Stand  in  your  place.      The  wrong  oppose, 
When   Right  with  Wrong  to  battle  goes! 
Right  wins! 


103 


FOR  OLD  TIMES'  SAKE 

(/•or  a  reunion  of  old  comrades  in  Christian  work.) 

nPOGETHER  in  the  long  ago 

•*•          We  set  our   feet  to  tread  this  way, 
Together  in  the  noonday  glow 

We  kept  the  path  and  did  not  stray. 
Long  friendship  links  us  hand  in  hand 

And  lights  our   far-spent  afternoon, 
As  marching  toward  the  sunset  land 

Each  takes  of  each  one  blessed  boon — 
A  word  of  love  and  cheer  to  make 

Our  pathways  bright — for  old  times'  sake, 
A  word  of  cheer  for  old  times'  sake! 

Our  souls  within  us  oft  have  stirred 

When,  in  the  times  of  toil  and  care, 
We've  sought  refreshment  in   the  Word 

And    found    the    fullness   treasured    there. 
Now,  when  the  years  behind  us  grow 

O'er  long,  renewedly  we  seek 
For  grace  to  soothe  the  wounds  of  woe, 

To  lift  the  fallen,  help  the  weak. 
So,  once  again,  our  zeal  to  wake, 

Chant  we  a  psalm  for  old  times'   sake — 
One  blessed  psalm  for  old  times'  sake. 

Our  marching  songs  have  echoed  high — 
Dear  hymns  they  were  of  hope  and  faith 

And  loud  acclaims  of  victory 

Through  Him  whose  arm  is  underneath 

All  true  endeavor,  strong  to  turn 

Man's   weakness    into    Heaven's   might. 

104 


Still  let  us  sing  with  hearts  that  burn — 

Sing  of  triumph  for  the  right, 
Of  "Blessed  ties"  that  shall  not  break, 

Of  "Firm  Foundations"  naught  shall  shake 
Sweet  hymns  of  love  for  old  times'  sake. 

When  hope  was  young  and  hands  were  strong 

To  meet  each  duty  day  by  day, 
We  kept  in  step  with  psalm  and  song; 

But,  often,  lest  our  feet  should  stray, 
In  comradeship  of  prayer  we  made 

Fervent  petition  and  found  grace. 
As  still  we  need  the  Master's  aid, 

While  life  accords  us  speech  and  space, 
Once  more  in  unity  we'll  make 

Our  prayer  together  for  old  times'  sake — 
One  prayer,  beloved,  for  old  times'  sake! 


105 


THE  WHITE  RIBBON 

1HAVE  seen  a  white  gleam 
On  the  thronging  street 
Where  the  paths  of  the  strange 

And  the  straying  meet. 
'Twas  the  temperance  badge — 

Just  a  ribbon  of  white 
But  a  token  of  hope 

And  a  promise  of  light. 

Refrain: 

O,  little  white  bow 

With  your  saving  glow, 

Shine  on,  shine  on ! 

Shine  for  the  things  that  are  holy  and  pure, 
Shine  for  the  truth  that  shall  ever  endure, 
Shine  for  the  life  that  is  loyal  and  white, 
Shine  for  victory,  shine  for  right! 

O  little  white  bow,  with  your  saving  glow. 
Shine  on,  Shine  on! 

I  have  seen  it  again  at  the  hearth  of  home, 
Ere  the  children  have  gone  earth's  by-ways  to  roam — 
Sign  of  motherhood  roused  Sin's  dark  torrent  to  stem, 
That  her  children's  life-path  might  be  safer  for  them. 

REFRAIN 

To  the  hall  or  the  court  or  the  haunts  of  woe, 
Like  a  ray  from  the  sun  comes  the  ribbon  bow. 
From  the  desolate  hearth,   from  the  prison-cell  cold, 
Seek  its  wearers  to  bring  each  lost  sheep  to  the  fold. 

REFRAIN 
106 


SPIRIT  OF  CHRISTMAS 

SPIRIT  of  Christmas,  from  Bethlehem's  manger, 
Breathe  forth  thy  blessing  o'er  comrade  and  stranger 
Heed  not  nor  stay  for  time,  distance  or  weather; 
Bind  the  torn  hearts  of  the  sad  world  together. 
Weld  closer  the  bonds  that  shall  never  be  broken, 
Love's  kingdom  is  coming  and  thou  art  the  token. 


107 


A  GIFT  OF  LONG  AGO 

THE  broad  and  silent  Mississippi 
Lay  locked  in  winter's  ice  and  snow 
When  I  bought  that  Christmas  trifle 
Forty  years  ago. 

It  was  but  the  tiniest  token- 
Merest  spark  of  constant  glow 
Of  love  that  filled  our  hearts,  dear  one, 
Forty  years  ago! 

So  full  had  been  our  years  together 
We  did  not  deem  them  few  or  know 
We  were  but  children  in  world  lore, 
Forty  years  ago. 

And  neither  portent  or  pre-vision 
Made  known  how  far  our  feet  must  go 
Through  wastes  of  care  and  vales  of  sorrow 
Forty  years  ago. 

Still  ice-locked  sleeps  the  mighty  river 
And  still  its  June  floods  ebb  and  flow, 
Gleams  still  at  hand  the  gift,  so  slender, 
Of  forty  years  ago. 

But  vanished  are  the  friendly  faces — 
Some  sleep,  some  wander,  to  and  fro, 
Who  were  wont  to  grace  our  hearth-side 
Forty  years  ago. 

Through  days  o'er  crowded,  swift  and  changeful 
By  devious  paths  must  memory  go 
Back  to  that  peaceful  Christmas  day 
Forty  years   ago. 

108 


How  many  fond  ambitions  shattered, 
How  many  cherished  hopes  lie  low, 
While  this  dumb  gift  survives  to  tell 
Of  forty  years  ago ! 

To  call  to  mind  the  kingly  river, 
The  town,  the  church,  our  cottage  row, 
The  days  we  wrought  in  love,  together, 
Forty  years  ago. 

Since  then  how  fast  the  years  unravel — 
By  lake  and  sea,  in  sun  and  snow, 
In  lands  we  had  not  thought  to  travel, 
Forty  years  ago. 

Life  has  not  spared  the  hand  of  chastening- 
The  wisdom  taught  by  trial  and  woe 
Has  set  along  our  way  its  warnings, 
Since  forty  years  ago. 

And  yet  the  best  of  life  abideth: 
God's  love  and  thine  I  know, 
Still  they  brighten  joy  and  sorrow 
As  forty  years  ago. 

So  vivid  thine,  I'm  half  forgetting 
(And  this,  dear  one,  is  food  for  tears) 
I  have  missed  thy  step  beside  me 

Through  half  the  forty  years! 


1(19 


HOSPITALITY 

WOULDST  know  true  hospitality? 
Visit  the  home  in  Bethany. 
See  Mary  forget  house-wifely  zest 
In  joy  of  welcoming  her  Guest, 
While  Martha  seeks  to  entertain 
By  anxious  service,  toilsome,  vain. 
A  friendly  welcome  from  the  heart, 
A  love,  sincere,  was  the  good  part 
That   Mary   chose.      And   still   the   guest 
Is  not  by  care  and  cost  served  best. 
Better   far  than  sumptuous  fare 
The  joy  that  welcoming  faces  wear! 


110 


FROM  FAILURE  TO  FLIGHT 

OSOUL,  slumber  not,  plume  thy  wings, 
make  thee  strong; 
Let  not  failure  or  fall  win  thine  eyes 

from  the  height 
Till  conqueror  thou  shalt  rise  up 

with  a  song 

On  wings  that  through  failure  found  strength 
for  the  flight! 


Ill 


MY  PLANTING 

1WILL  not  scatter  evil  seeds  of  doubt, 
despair  and  fear 
Lest   I   should   in   the  harvest  time,   with   no 

good  sheaves  appear. 
Hope  shall   grow   in   fields   I   sow,   whatever 

may  affright, 

And   faith   my   furrows   follow,   though 
I   plough   in  darkest  night. 


112 


LIGHT  THROUGH  THE  CLOUDS 

THE  clouds  hung  o'er  the  sea, 
Their  mists  obscured  the  view 
And  veiled  in  sodden  grey 

The  stretch  of  burnished  blue, 
When  from  some  rift  unseen 

A  sudden  brightness  sprung, 
Broke   through   the   imprisoning   clouds 
That  elsewhere  closely  clung. 

A  shaft  of  light  gleamed  forth, 

Though  sea  and  sky  were  grey. 
Before  my  raptured  eyes 

An  aisle  of  brightness  lay — 
A  shining  path  of  gold 

Across  a  mist-grey  sea 
Whereon  a  shining  ship 

Seemed  sailing  in  to  me. 

I  know  this  ship  of  gold, 

Tho'    I   should  journey  wide, 
Will  touch  no  port  for  me, 

Its  decks  I  shall  not  ride; 
For  on  life's  rugged  roads 

Such   visions   often    gleam — 
Gilt  chariots  of  success 

All  built  of  wish  and  dream. 

From  some  fair  realm  they  flash 

Like  sunbeams  from  the  sky — 
Cargoes  of  golden  hopes 

That  ever  pass  us  by. 
Yet,  while  the  vision  glows 

Our  feet  can  bear  the  smart, 
For  o'er  our  road  it  lights 

The  Highway  of  the  Heart. 

113 


THE  SONGLESS  BIRD 

ALL  day  it  fluttered  round  and  round 
With  one  shrill,  unmelodious  sound — 
A  wearying  and  unwelcome  thing, 
A  bird  that  croaked  but  could  not  sing. 
But  with  its  final  note  I  caught 
A  single,  true  and  helpful  thought: 
Even  a  birdling's  tuneless  cry, 
The  sound  of  waters  rushing  by, 
Of  sighing  pines,  of  quivering  palms, 
Or  lorvly  poe/'s  chanted  psalms, 
Have  place  in  Nature's  chorused  song. 
Should   silence   reign   where  these   belong, 
All  incomplete  the  grand  refrain; 
Even  Heaven,  itself,  would  miss  the  strain. 


114 


THE  HEAVIEST  LOAD 

HE  loved  the  open,  wind-swept  field, 
Broad  horizons,  wide,  green  space 
Where  mighty  strokes  bring  bounteous  yield, 
Where  champions  might  run  a  race. 

The  height  of  hills,  the  river's  length, 
The  broad  expanse  of  star-set  sky, 
The  harvest's  bulk,  the  engine's  strength 
Busied  his  mind  and  filled  his  eye. 

A  few  long  furrows  he  had  ploughed, 
Some  thrills  of  contest  keen  had  known, 
When  weakness  gripped  his  frame  and  bowed 
Him  down  to  petty  tasks  and  lone. 

Though  hot  rebellion   filled  his  heart, 
He  did  his  small  work,  well  and  true, 
Fierce  questioning  why  he,  stalwart 
Of  frame,  the  weakling's  task  must  do. 

Wearied,  at  last,  his  hot  rage  died 
And  gentle  patience  gave  him  rest — 
Somewhere  his  high  task  might  abide 
In  waiting  while  he  did  his  best. 

But  at  the  end  a  great  light  shone, 
Envisioning  the  pilgrim  road 
And  the  white  gate  where  one  by  one 
Each  weary  traveler  left  his  load; 

Dissolving  questionings  and  fears, 
Attesting  surely  his  high  call, 
Who  all  unknowing  through  the  years 
Had  borne  the  heaviest  load  of  all. 

115 


A  TWENTIETH  CENTURY  GREETING 

OWIND  of  the  west,  come  over  the  sea; 
Mingle  with  breath  of  the  mountain,  free; 
Lift  up  the  voices  of  song  and  mirth ; 
Carry  the  tidings  over  the  earth. 
Bright  heralds  are  gleaming  in  rose  and  gold 
And  swiftly  the  glories  of  dawning  unfold. 
Cometh  the  light  of  a  marvelous  morn — 
First  of  the  century  newly  born. 

Welcome,  thou  Presage  of  coming  good, 
Welcome,  thy  promise  of  brotherhood, 
Welcome,   the  pages,  unsoiled,  of  thy  book, 
Welcome,  the  light  of  thy  heavenward  look ! 
O,  fare  thou  with  us  along  better  ways; 
W^ear  thou,  in  our  presence,  the  garments  of  praise. 
For  our  healing,  bring  hope,  for  our  bruises  a  balm ; 
Bring  love  for  our  hating,  for  turmoil,  a  calm! 

Draped  in  futurity's  misty  veil, 
Without  search-light  or  seer  to  reveal  thy  tale, 
Swift-footed,  but  silent,  with  noiseless  tread, 
Befitting  the  feet  that  follow  the  dead, 
Thou  comest  the  bloom  of  our  blisses  to  share, 
The  night  of  our  sadness,  the  noon  of  our  care, 
Here's  greeting  and  trust  that  the  age  to  be, 
May  be  kind,  may  be  just  and  divinely  free! 


116 


SOUVENIRS 

WHEN  Summer's  rich  embroidered  robe  is  spread 
Aglow  with  pearl  and  blue,  with  gold  and  red, 
When  blossom  petals  scent  the  languid  air 
Till  breath  of  bud  and  bloom  floats  everywhere, 
Men,  heedless,  mow  the  roses  with  the  grass 
Nor  heed  the  star-eyed  daisies,  as  they  pass; 
But  when  the  frost  king  steals  earth's  floral  crown 
And  frozen  diamonds  deck  her  snowy  gown, 
Then  souvenirs  of  summer  sweets  they  prize — 
The  pure  faced  lilies  and  the  pansies'  eyes. 
No  vase  too  rich  to  hold  the  withered  spray 
That  brings  us  back  the  scent  of  summer  day! 
How  surge  the  tides  of  love  or  pale  regret 
At  sight  of  some  crushed  buds  of  mignonette 
That  breathe  the  breath  of  unforgotten  Junes 
Or  tell  of  vine-clad  tryst  'neath  summer  moons! 

A  withered  wreath, 
All  brown  with  dust  of  years, 
May  ope  the  long-closed  fount  of  bitter  tears 
And  newly  bind  the  heart  in  sorrow's  spell, 
For  fresh  rosebuds,  like  love's  new  tale  they  tell, 
Touch  not  like  those  whose  perfumed  breath  was  shed 
On  air  which  fanned  the  faces  of  our  dead. 

But,   truly, 

Love  nor  death  fill  full  life's  page, 
Gifts,   fitted  for  each  hand,   from  stage  to  stage, 
We  find — first  toy  and  tool,  then  book  and  pen. 
Each,   one  by  one,   slips   from  the  hand,   that,  when 
'Tis  gone  with  zeal  pathetic  seeks  to  save 
Their  scant  mementoes  from  oblivion's  wave; 
For  cold  the  mould  in  which  that  soul  is  cast 
That  keeps  no  cherished  tokens  of  its  past. 


117 


.     THE  POPPY  FIELDS 

AT  the  mountain's  base,  lies  the  shimmering  plain 
Where  the  poppies  wave  like  golden  grain. 
Like  fragments  of  sunshine  or  billows  of  gold, 
In  the  breath  of  the  springtime  their  glories  unfold. 
The  stern  old  ridges  have  planted  their  feet 
In  the  gossamer  tents  where  the  fairies  meet, 
And,  when  canyon  and  crag  and  sinuous  trail 
Are  wrapped  in  the  sunset's  dusky  veil, 
Their  matchless  embroideries,   green   and  gold, 
Edge  the  soft  mantle's  encircling  fold 
With  flosses,  silken,  too  fine  for  a  name, 
By  needles  of  sunbeams  wrought  into  flame. 
O,  never  a  king  such  robes  hath  found 
As  these  monarch  sierras  have  wrapped  them  round. 


118 


IN  ORANGE  BLOSSOM  TIME 

QOFTLY  wafted  over  seas, 
^  Spring  is  stirring  in  the  breeze 

Of  this,  her  favored  clime. 
Fragrance    rare   the    breezes    fling, 
Down  the  roads  the  motors  sing, 
Brides  and  birds  are  all  a-wing 

In  orange  blossom  time. 

Out  into  the  fragrant  day 

Let  your   feet  and   fancy  stray, 

Or  with  the  engine  climb 
Up   on   wheel,    unwearied,    strong, 
Down  through  flowered  vales  of  song, 
Joy-ride  with  the  world  along 

In  orange  blossom  time. 

While  the  waxen  petals  fold 
Secrets  of  the  fruit  of  gold, 

The  promise  of  its  prime, 
Gossip  winds  to  laughing  eves 
Breathe  of  star-white  blossom  sheaves 
Hiding  in  the  glossy  leaves 

In  orange  blossom  time. 

Over  all  the  fragrance  dwells, 
Ivied  walls  and  rusted  bells — 

The  mission's  ancient  chime. 
Valley  of  the  orange  tree, 
From  the  summit  to  the  sea 
Fascination  clotheth  thee, 

In  orange  blossom  time! 


119 


THE  CHILDREN'S  FOOTSTEPS 

MOTHERS,  I  hear  the  children's  feet- 
Hear  them  tripping  down  the  street, 
From  hills  and  lanes  they  love  to  roam, 
With  laden  hands  they're  coming  home! 
Shrubs,  leaves  and  blooms  they  bring — 
Priceless  treasures  of  the  Spring. 
Frown  not  on  the  scattered  greens, 
Some  day,  perhaps,  in  distant  scenes, 
Good  may  reach  your  girl  or  boy 
With  memory  of  this  childish  joy! 
Full  soon  life's  growth  and  changes,  due, 
Will  lead  their  footsteps  far  from  you. 
Then,  tho'  Spring's  first  violets  bloom, 
No  little  feet  will  patter  home 
To  bring  the  blossom  litter  where 
You  may  in  their  gladness  share! 
Into  the  world  of  work  and  men 
Your  mother-heart  will  reach  out,   then, 
Yearning  to  know  that  in  life's  din 
The  wealth   their  busy  hands  may  win, 
As  pure  a  joy  to  them  may  bring 
As  gathered  violets  of  Spring. 
And  that  when  evening  time  is  come 
Their   happy    footsteps,    safe,    reach    Home. 


120 


WANTS  OF  THE  HOUR 

WE  want  n>or£.      Faithful  hand,   willing  feet, 
eager  brain, 

The  needs  of  the  world  are  calling  again. 
Let  the  white  heat  of  zeal  burn  in  every  soul — 
Zeal  of  love  to  inspire  and  our  service  control. 
If  like  sentries  we  stand,  each  one  at  his  post, 
We  shall  triumph  o'er  Wrong  and  its  marshalled  host. 

We  want  prayer,  not  a  formal  unsanctified  speech, 
But  earnest  and  true,  all  prevailing  to  reach 
Unto  Him  who  looks  down  from  His  radiant  throne 
Holding  blessings  in  waiting  and  crowns  for  His  own. 
Through  such  work  and  such  prayer  earth  and  Heaven 

shall  move 
To  speed  on  the  long  promised  dominion  of  love. 


121 


THE  MOTHER'S  PRAYER 

EVER  on  the  heart  so  loving — 
Ever  on  the  mother's  breast, 
Lies  the  heavy  load  of  longing 
That  her  children's  lot  be  blest. 

If  her  human  heart  be  selfish, 
Pleading,  pleading  for  her  own, 

Lord  forgive  the  sin!      Send  blessing 

None  the   less — yet  bless  not  hers  alone. 

Everywhere,  upbreathes  to  Heaven 
Plea  of  mother  for  her  child — 

Come  the  cry  from  hut  or  palace, 
Altar-side   or   desert  wild, — 

Lord,  receive  it.     Bind  together 

Mine  that  riseth  evermore, 
Hers  whose  plea  is  mightiest, 

Hers  who  never  prayed  before. 

Seal  them  with  Thine  own  approval, 
Though  their  speech  be  wise  or  weak, 

They   are  true  heart-cries  for  blessing — 
Blessing,  only,  love  doth  seek. 

Saviour,  let  Thine  ear  be  open! 

Rachel  crieth  not  alone. 
Bind  our  prayers  in  one  white  sheaf 

And  bear  them  to  the  throne! 


122 


AUTOGRAPHS 

MAY  the  friction  of  life's  cares 
Touch  so  light  that,  unawares, 
They  may  polish,  yet  not  mar, 
The  priceless  gem  of  character! 


Men,   gladly,  battle  with  the  waves 
Or,  patient,  delve  in  darkest  caves 

For  jewels  of  the  earth, 
And  shall  not  we,  with  equal  pains, 
Seek  those  more  enduring  gains — 

The  jewels  of  the  soul? 


I  fain  would  ask  that  life,  for  thee, 
Might  one  long  day  of  sunshine  be; 
But,   conscious   that   unshadowed   bliss 
Inhabits  other  realms  than  this, 
I  breathe,   instead,   one   fervent  prayer 
That  thine  may  be  the  blessing,   rare, 
Of  acquiescence,  sweet  and  still, 
In  all  thy  Father's  perfect  will. 


123 


FRAGMENTS  OF  VERSE 


BEAUTY  AND  DUTY 

I  SAW  a  row  of  gorgeous  flowers 
Whose  colors  brightened  all  around, 
But  marked  that  fragrance  filled  the  air 

From  lowlier  blossoms  near  the  ground; 
Thus,   I  thought,  does  beauty's  bloom 
Make  brightness  where  would  else  be  gloom, 
Yet  duty,  love,  and  humble  worth 
Shed  rarer  sweetness  over  earth. 


A  FRIEND'S  BIRTHDAY 

JOY  be  with  thee!      Bells  of  time 
Have  rung  for  thee  this  eighteenth  chime! 
Before  thee  lies,  like  this  white  page, 
Thy  life-time  space — from  youth  to  age. 
O,  fill  it  full  of  noble  deeds, 
God  give  thee  wisdom  for  thy  needs! 


124 


THE  RHYME  OF  THE  AUTOMOBILE 
(DEDICATED  TO  SPEEDERS) 

LISTEN  to  the  rhyme  of  the  Automobile — the 
Juggernaut  with  the  modern  wheel,  that  blinds 
you  with  its  fierce  headlights  and  runs  you  down  for 
sport  o'  nights.  A  fiend's  at  the  wheel  (no  horns  or 
hoofs,  but  a  breath  and  a  bottle  give  ample  proofs). 
Though  you  ride  your  own  motor  car  down  the 
street,  or  cautiously  walk  on  your  own  steady  feet; 
whether,  in  fact,  you  stand  or  you  stir,  you  live  by 
the  grace  of  some  grim  chauffeur. 

The  old  man  cries,  "Alas  and  alack!  The  safe  old 
days  cannot  come  back."  The  youth  cries  "Ho! 
as  he  rescues  his  frame,  "I'll  be  in  on  this  killing  game! 
It's  me  for  the  wheel ;  it  sure  will  be  fun  to  honk,  honk, 
honk  while  the  hayseeds  run." 

Here's  where  our  hard  earned  cash  we  blow,  for  it's 
money  that  makes  the  engine  go — money  and  clothes 
and  houses  and  bread.  Yet,  "Speed!"  is  the  cry, 
"We'll  be  a  long  time  dead."  It's  "Ho!"  for  the  joy- 
ride — a  scream  and  a  breath,  a  wild  escape  in  a 
skirmish  with  death. 

Then  it's  Ho,  for  the  scrap-pile  where  money  is  sunk, 
with  the  knife  and  the  morgue  for  the  human  junk; 
for  some  are  breaking  their  ankles  and  things;  some 
chasing,  too  eagerly,  angel  wings.  Many  are  spending 
who  never  earned,  driven  to  deeds  that  conscience 
spurned,  running  a  race  that  leads  one  straight  to  the 
sorry  side  of  the  prison  gate;  for  young  and  old  and  a 
many  between  are  riding  to  rum  via  gasoline. 


125 


DOROTHA  FRANCES 

GAILY  solemn  joy-bells  ringing, 
Sent  their  rhythmic  tones  a-winging 
Like  sunbeam  glances. 
To  me,   from  far,  their  cadence  came 
And  bore  the  music  of  a  name — 
Dorotha  Frances. 

Springing  from  a  mother's  bosom, 
Sprays  of  buds  that  promise  blossom — 

Hope's  fairest  fancies  — 
I  send.    And  may  the  brightest  hope 

prove  true 
That  fills  thy  mother's  heart  for  you, 

Dorotha  Frances. 


126 


THE  TRUE  TALE  OF  THE 
TENDERFOOT 

(His  Letter.) 

DEAR  JOHN: 
You  ought  to  see  this  glorious  sunrise 

With  the  California  glow — 
See  it  tint  the  mountain  tops 

With  their  coronets  of  snow ! 
You  should  scent  the  Sweet  Alyssum 

Cool  and  wet  with  morning  dew, 
The  ubiquitous  Geraniums 

That  color  all  the  charming  view! 
You  should  see  the  berries  redden 

On  the  drooping  Pepper  boughs, 
While  the  song  of  mocking-birds 

Doth  your  poetic  fervor  rouse ! 
I  shall  look  to  see  you  coming 

To  this  land  of  sun  and  song, 
And — lest  you  should  forget  it — 

Be  sure  to  bring  your  Purse  along! 

Dear  Joe: 

I  have  read  the  rhapsodies 

You  are  sending  us  "back  east." 

Your  poetry  is  most  surprising 

And  that's  to  say  the  least! 
I  will  wager  you  were  writing 

All  about  the  blossoming  hills 
With  your  feet  upon  the  fender 

Thinking  of  the  coal  man's  bills! 
And  coming  down  to  real  "brass  tacks:" 

You  didn't  hunt  the  sun-rise  glow, 
But  longed  to  trade  some  scenery 

For  a  furnace-heated  bungalow! 

127 


I  know  about  your  Paradise 

Of  balmy  airs,  flowers  sweet, 
Snowy  heights,  and  (just  here,  it's  time 

For  some  one  to  turn  on  the  heat.) 
Confess,  you,  tenderfoot!     You'd  like, 

In  your  sympathetic  hours, 
To  bring  the  "garden  sass"  indoors 

And  warm  the  shivering  flowers! 
And  then  that  ocean  bath   at  Christmas! 

Of  your  cool  stories  that's  the  nub — 
Leave  off  about  the  rolling  surf, 

Confess — you  took  it  in  a  tub! 

Postscript : 

Say,  old  pal,  I'll  be  out  there 

Quite  soon,  to  help  you  boost  and  blow, 
You  will  deride  my  zeal,  perhaps, 
But  I'll  get  rid  of  shoveling  snow! 


128 


A  TRUE  CHRISTMAS  STORY 

THEY  had  taught  her,  "Now  I  lay  me," 
Told  her  of  Heaven  up  above, 
Of  Bethlehem,  the  manger  cradle, 
Of  Jesus  and  His  Love. 

And  then  they  told  of  Santa  Claus 
Coming  with  reindeers  over  the  snow, 

With  lots  of  toys  for  girls  and  boys 
If  they  were  good  and  true,  you  know. 

One  day  she  came  with  grief  and  sobs — 
Stories  of  Santa  Claus  weren't  true; 

They  were  just  old  fairy  tales 
That  all  the  grown-ups  knew. 

And  when  we  thought  the  grief  forgot, 

She   came  with    frightened   eyes   of   blue: 

"Are  they  all  fairy  stories — about   Heaven 
And  angels  and  Jesus,  too?" 


129 


THEY  ALSO 

They  also  have  erred  through  wine,  and  through 
strong  drink  are  out  of  the  way;  the  priest  and  the 
prophet  have  erred  through  strong  drink,  ^eP  a*"e 
swallowed  up  of  wine,  they  are  out  of  the  way  through 
strong  drink;  they  err  in  vision,  they  stumble  in 
judgment. — Is.  28  ;7. 

ONOT  alone  the  straying  sheep 
On  Samaria's  mountain  steep, 
But  'They,  also,"  of  Judah's  land, 
Where  the  Lord's  pure  altars  stand! 
Here,   drunken  priests  and  prophets  reel 
Where  Jacob's  sons  were  wont  to  kneel. 
Dim   the  prophet's  vision   now! 
Forgot  the  Naz'rite's  holy  vow! 
And  judgment  stumbles,   while  the  cry 
Of  weak  ones  wronged  is  rising  high. 
Priest  and  people  swallowed  up 
In  drunkenness'    forbidden  cup! 
Shall  history  again  record 
A  recreant  nation's  dread  reward? 
Shall  they  on  whom  Christ's  light  doth  shine 
Be  also  "swallowed  up"  of  wine — 
Apostate  Ephraim's  ruin  know 
And  share  in  Judah's  self-wrought  woe? 
Rise  to  repentance,  ye  who  hear 
The  "Mighty  and  strong"  ones  coming  near! 
Declare  the  judgments  of  the  Lord 
On  rulers  false,  who,   "for  reward," 
Do,  now,  the  wicked  justify, 
As  in  the  days  of  prophecy! 

130 


The  woe  pronounced  on  sin  is  sure, 
The  word  of  God  doth  still  endure. 
And  our  own  country,  blest  of  God, 
Shall  not  escape  the  uplifted  rod, 
If  still  through  license — fell  device — 
It  traffics  in  the  people's  vice; 
If  still  the  Law's  protecting  arm 
Gives  guard  and  sanction  to  the  harm 
Of  drunkenness — its  sin  and  shame — 
In  every  land  and  age  the  same. 
Alas,  that  they,  so  lifted  up — 
"They  also"  love  the  poison  cup! 
Lord,  show  to  all  the  dangerous  path ! 
O,  save  us  from  deserved  wrath! 


131 


CHRISTMAS  HYMN 

ING  me  the  story, 

Sweetest  ever  told, 
Wreathed  in  a  glory 

That  cannot  grow  old. 
Sing  of  the  Christ-child 

Who  for  us  was  born, 
Who  came  to  the  world 

On  the  Christmas  morn. 

And  there  was  no  room 

In  the  inn  for  them — 
For  the  brow  that  wore 

Heaven's  diadem. 
A  manger  was  His, 

No  crown  and  no  throne, 
Though  kingdoms  of  earth 

All,  all  were  His  own. 

But  the  angels  came  down, 

Glory  round  them  shone, 
Heaven's  own  heralds 

The  tidings  made  known 
Of  good  will  to  man, 

For  the  wondrous  birth 
Meant  glory  to  God 

And  peace  upon  earth. 

Then  a  new  star  shone 
O'er  the  wise  men's  way 

Till  it  came  and  stood 

Where  the  young  Child  lay. 

132 


And  the  songs  at  night 
That  the  shepherds  heard, 

Bright  star  in  the  East 
And  the  prophet's  word 

Declare  Him  the  Son, 

The  Savior,  divine, 
The  long-promised  One 

Of  Israel's  line. 
His,  no  scepter  of  earth, 

No  riches  or  dross. 
His  mission  to  save, 

From  cradle  to  cross. 

On  hills  of  Judea, 

Where  the  Jordan  rolled, 
By  Samaria's  well, 

In  Jerusalem  old, 
He  taught  men  the  way 

Of  mercy  and  love, 
He  brought  them  the  life 

And  light  from  above. 

Then  sing  the  dear  song 

Of  earth  and  of  Heaven 
With  its  blest  refrain 

Of  sins  forgiven. 
Let  men  in  all  lands, 

In  isles  of  the  sea, 
Tell  the  glad  story 

And  hold  jubilee. 


133 


SUMMER 

SHE  comes,  with  perfumed  breath  across  the  lands, 
Rich  broidered  with  the  flosses  from  her  hands. 
She  tosseth,  far  and  swift,  the  tangled  sheen — 
The  lily-white,  the  golden  and  the  green — 
Till  flower-borders  edge  each  dusty  pass, 
And  laces  pearled  with  mist  adorn  the  grass. 
A  hint  of  blue  for  sweet  forget-me-nots, 
And  threads  of  softest  silk  for  daisy  dots 
She  weaves;  then  dips  her  thread  in  sun-set  glows, 
Breathes  on  her  work,  and  lo,  the  red,  red  rose! 

And  thus  comes  life  across  the  flowered  way, 
That  youthful  hopes  and  fancy  decks  so  gay. 
Her  shuttle,  swift,  a  wondrous  pattern  weaves — 
Fair  tapestries  inwrought  with   flowers  and   leaves. 
One  vase  she  bears  aloft  among  the  clouds, 
Adrip  with  mists  that  morning's  glory  shrouds; 
The  tint  of  sunrise,  shine  of  stars  it  holds; 
All  beauty  waiteth  till  its  bloom  unfolds 
Kissed  by  the  airs  of  some  supernal  morn, 
Then  Love,  the  one,  one  rose  of  life  is  born ! 


134 


THE  BLIZZARD 

T     OOK,  yonder,  to  the  south!     A  strange,  grey  fog 

•*— J   Rises  and  rolls  above  the  hill-tops  there, 

As  if  a  thousand  fires  were  burning  fierce 

Behind,  and  poured  their  smoke  into  the  air. 

It  has  a  threatening  look  and  swiftly  moves 

This  way — covers  the  landscape  like  a  cloak. 

See,  how  the  hills  are  blotted,  one  by  one ! 

Denser  it  seems  than  fog,  whiter  than  smoke! 

So  fast  it  comes  the  men  have  taken  fright. 

I  hear  their  shouts  to  drive  the  cattle  in — 

'Tis  storm! 

Driven  by  all  the  winds  that  blow, 
Its  fury  bursts  on  us  with  roar  and  din. 
The  doors  and  windows  spring  and  strain. 
The  young  trees  writhe  and  twist  before  its  power. 
Then,  falls  on  all  the  scene  an  icy  veil, 
Before  which  living  things,  wind-driven,  cower. 
A  smother  of  frost  checks  the  breath.     Sight  fails 
In  the  white  darkness  of  the  flying  frost 
That  strikes  like  powdered  steel.     Relentless  gales 
Whirl  men  in  savage  dance,  as  spent  and  lost, 
They  wander  in  the  Arctic  fog  till  fate 
Brings  them  unwaking  sleep,  or  lawless  blast 
Drives  them,  unseeing,  to  some  friendly  gate, 
Like  wrecks  on  shores  of  snowy  seas  upcast. 

Cold  Terror  of  the  plain ! 
Why  break,  unheralded,  into  the  peace 
Of  a  mild  noon?     Dread  suffering  in  your  train 
Comes  swift.     Then  hold  your  wolfish  winds  in  leash ! 

135 


Spare,  now,  the  happy  children  who,  this  morn, 

Tripped  merrily  along  the  un fenced  road, 

The  patient  cattle  feeding  in  the  corn, 

The  farmer,  homing  slow  with  heavy  load ! 

Vain  plea!      The  storm  roars  on  with  force  unspent. 

A  hundred  homes  with  helpless  fear  are  chill. 

The  bravest,  only,  to  the  battle  bent, 

Gain,  now  a  step,  a  breath,  by  might  or  will — 

All  strength  to  the  high  task  of  rescue  bowed; 

For  weak  ones  struggle  vainly  in  the  storm. 

Some,  this  veil  of  deadly  frost,  shall  shroud, 

For  whom  are  waiting  hearts  and  hearth-fires  warm. 

Around  the  little  prairie  schoolhouse,  lonely,  frail, 
The  angry  blast  with  ceaseless  fury  screams. 
To  guide  the  children  on  the  homeward  trail 
No  voice,  no  star,  no  friendly  candle  gleams, 
But  winds  tear  their  shelter  roof  from  frame, 
Drive  them  to  meet  the  unpitying  blast. 
Teacher  and  taught,  weak  and  strong,  the  same 
Dread  battle  try;   for  some — the  last. 

The  morning  broke. 
The  earth  lay  spent  and  still. 
The  boldest  fear  to  know  what  underlies 
The  drift-filled  hollows   and  the  whitened  hill 
Where  some,   alas!   sleep  cold  beneath  the  skies. 
Others,  amid  the  war  of  elements, 
The  struggle  won,   snatched  periled  lives  from 

clutches  chill, 

Led  them  to  safety  by  some  super-sense — 
Or,  better:  by  Great  Heaven's  will. 
One  led  to  shelter  safe  her  shivering  group. 
Lest  they  be  scattered  in  the  blinding  storm, 
She  bound  them,  each  to  each,  with  guiding  rope. 
Her  deed  won  her  a  nation's  praises  warm. 

136 


One  wandered  with  her  charges,  round  and  round. 
Endured,  with  them,  night's  sufferings  and  alarms, 
To  creep  at  morn  from  out  the  frozen  mound 
Where  they  had  perished  in  her  arms. 

O,  never  shall  be  told  in  full  the  tale 

Of  that  wild  day  and  night  of  death  and  dread, 

And  never  shall  be  counted  all  the  toll 

Of  loss  and  suffering — maimed  and  dead! 


137 


T 


HAPPINESS 

O  wake  at  morn  to  song  of  birds, 

To  loving  smiles  and  cheerful  words, 
To  feel  the  healthful  pulses  leap 
With  strength  renewed  in  restful  sleep — 
These  are  gifts  of  life  that  bless, 
Strands  that  weave  its  happiness. 


To  know  our  work,  to  see  the  need 
And  meet  it  well  by  timely  deed, 
To  use  with  skill  the  art  we've   learned, 
To  eat  with  joy  the  bread  we've  earned — 
These  are  gifts  of  life  that  bless, 
Strands  that  weave  its  happiness. 

Chiefest  store  of  wordly  wealth 
Is  found  in  love,  in  work,  in  health. 
To  know  that  though  we  sleep  or  wake, 
The  love  of  God  shall  not  forsake — 
This,  the  best  of  gifts  that  bless, 
The  warp  and  woof  of  happiness! 


138 


OCTOBER  ROSES  IN  CALIFORNIA 

OCTOBER  roses — not  frail  hot-house  blooms 
Nor  luscious  flowers  that  grow  in  serried  rows, 
The  pride  and  triumph  of  the  gardener's  art; 
Not,  even,  the  flowers,  beloved  of  every  heart, 
That  grew  in  gardens  that  our  mothers  loved, 
But,  late,  wild  roses,  open-petalled,  sweet 
As  those  that  smiled  away  their  brief  June  day 
Beside  the  fields  of  corn,  by  green  road  sides, 
And  moss-grown,  zig-zag  fences  which  we  knew 
When  life  was  in  its  June  and  rose-hued,  too. 

October  roses — darlings  of  the  sun 

In  whose  long  kiss  exhales  their  little  day, 

How  in  this  autumn  moon  of  fruit  and  sheaf, 

Of  garnered  harvests  and  of  changing  leaf, 

Came  they  to  beauteous  bloom?     Their  blushes  deep 

Are  like  some  disappointed  maiden's  cheek 

Who  seeks  the  bower,  in  all  her  festive  robes, 

To  find  the  dance  is  done,  the  revellers  gone. 

And,  yet,   not  so.     June,   who  with  her  roses  comes 

A  radiant  guest  to  other  lands,  dwells  here 

And  twines  her  sweet,  wild  garlands  round  the  year. 

October  roses — on  the  canyon's  side 

A  mingled  mass  of  brilliant  color  lies. 

The  branches,  brown,   their  clustered  rubies  wear; 

Leaves  cling  and  color  in  the  frostless  air; 

Beside  them,  on  the  same  brown  stem,  each  day, 

Pink  buds  lift  baby  faces  to  the  light, 

Give  back  their  own  wide-open  smile,  and  fall. 

Yet  nothing  dies,  for  every  falling  flower 

Leaves  resurrection  pledge  behind, 

And  every  crimson  sphere  that  glows 

Holds  in  its  heart  a  perfect  rose. 

139 


October  roses — with  their  brave,  bright  hues, 
Touch  subtle  springs  of  pathos  in  the  heart. 
They  speak  of  late-won  laurels  gayly  worn 
O'er  hearts  that  care  has  chilled  and  conflict  torn, 
Of  hampered  lives  that,  yet,  yield  fullest  meed 
Of  laughter,  gladness,  song  and  deed, 
Of  struggling  souls  that  bravely  face  the  light. 
Knowing  cheerful  courage,  only,  wins  the  prize, 
They  give  June's  smile  to  dull  October  skies. 


140 


THE  BATTLE  OF  LEON 

(At  the  foot  of  the  Mexican  mountain,  El  Mirador,  whose  upper 
most  peak  is  capped  by  a  white  turret  to  which  the  religious  folk  in 
other  days  made  pilgrimages  for  the  saying  of  prayers  or  the  doing  of 
penances,  are  arrayed  the  armies  of  Mexico's  warring  chiefs,  Generals 
Villa  and  Obregon.  The  little  shrine  on  the  mountain  top  overlooks 
the  entire  valley  of  the  Rio  de  Leon,  but  its  ancient  peace  is  rudely 
broken.  Two  parallel  lines  of  steel  fifteen  miles  long,  eighty  cannon 
and  fifty  thousand  men  are  charging  and  counter-charging  across  a 
plain  strewn  with  dead  and  wounded. 

For  three  weeks  they  have  maneuvered  and  fought  for  advantage  in 
this  valley,  and  the  burros  and  carts  of  the  peons,  loaded  with  women 
and  children  from  the  haciendas,  are  blocking  the  roads.  A  half  moon 
shines  placidly  as  if  oblivious  of  the  scene  where  the  wounded  and 
dying  lie  and  where  the  morrow  will  bring  added  numbers.  Thus 
men  struggle  and  die,  and  Mexico  suffers  on.) 

THE  pillared  peak,  El  Mirador 
Shines  whitely  in  the  tropic  sun, 
As  when  in  peaceful  days  of  yore 

Sad  penitentes,  one  by  one, 
Climbed,  painfully,  the  rocky  trail 

To  pray  beside  the  Virgin's  stone 
Revered  as  guardian  of  the  vale — 
Fair  vale  of  Rio  de  Leon. 


The  shrine  is  still,  the  suppliants  late, 

And  where  the  casa  bianco,  stands, 
Beneath  whose  roof  in  lordly  state 

Once  dwelt  the  owner  of  these  lands, 
Encamps  a  chief — a  warrior 

Whose  guns  resound  with  thunderous  tone, 
Whose  men  are  fighting,  dying  there 

Beside  the  Rio  de  Leon. 

Sad-eyed  senoras,  pray  again 

For  passing  souls,  by  battle  torn, 

Whose  pulseless  bodies  strew  the  plain 
That  once  was  fair  with  fruit  and  corn ! 

141 


Yes,  cry  to  Heaven  your  grief  and  pain, 
Bewail  the  battle — lost  or  won — 

For  they  but  fight  to  fight  again 
Along  the  Rio  de  Leon. 

And  ye,  fair  senoritas,  wail 

For  lovers  who  will  come  no  more, 
For  harvests  crushed  by  war's  rude  flail 

While  children  starve  from  shore  to  shore! 
Let  pleading  tears  your  deserts  dew, 

Pray  in  your  shrines  so  vast  and  lone, 
That  Heaven  send  peace  and  order  to 

The  vale  of  Rio  de  Leon. 


142 


THE  OLD  BLUE  SPREAD 

THEY  did  excellent  work  in  the  storied  old  days, 
And  this  souvenir  speaks  of  their  provident  ways. 
Its  threads  knew  the  whirl  of  the  spindle  and  wheel, 
They  have  swung  round  and  round  with  the  dizzying  reel ; 
And,  perhaps,  it  was  some  thrifty  forbear  of  mine 
Who  spun  the  blue  threads  that  form  the  design. 

It  is  only  a  piece  of  an  old  worn  spread 

That  dear  hands  have  oft,  tenderly,  tucked  round  my  bed, 

That  so  often  I've  handled,   awake   and  asleep. 

It  seems  it  must,  somehow,  my  memory  keep, 

That,  somewhere,  secreted  in  fabric  or  fold, 

It  must  treasure  the  tales  that  the  years  have  told. 

It  is  voiceless,  I  know,  yet  that  fragment,  to  me, 
Recalls  the  old  home,  like  the  turn  of  a  key, 
And  my  mind  goes  tripping  from  room  to  room 
Like  the  feet  of  a  child  who  has  just  come  home. 
I  see  the  old  bed-posts,  each  topped  with  a  ball, 
The  smooth,  soft  bed  and  the  spread  over  all. 

Recollection  flies  fast  and  down  the  long  lane 
Of  the  years  since  I  slept  'neath  the  old  counterpane 
Appeareth  a  voice  and  a  presence,  near, 
That  made  the  old  home  and  its  memories  dear. 
Of  the  heart-song  of  home  'twas  the  dominant  note; 
I  think  of  it,  now,  with  a  sob  in  my  throat, — 
Mother ! 


143 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY, 
BERKELEY 


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STAMPED  BELOW 

Books  not  returned  on  time  are  subject  to  a  fine  of 
50c  per  volume  after  the  third  day  overdue,  increasing 
to  $1.00  per  volume  after  the  sixth  day.  Books  not  in 
demand  may  be  renewed  if  application  is  made  before 
expiration  of  loan  period. 


20?n-l/22 


YB   17158 


327195 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


